Anathema
by Mendeia
Summary: It's just an ordinary day for the Mighty One, beating down the bad guys to save the world and all, but when he teams up with the Ghostbusters, that ordinary day becomes a little more extraordinary. Finished at last!
1. Busted

Yep, it's been forever since I added anything to the Mighty Max fandom, but I haven't been idle, I promise! This came to me a long while back, and I'm still working my way through some roadblocks, but I figured perhaps somebody might want the beginning of the road. Thus, I submit to you this crossover of Mighty Max with The Real Ghostbusters.

Disclaimer: I do not own Mighty Max, The Real Ghostbusters (or any fake Ghostbusters, for that matter), Tarzan, the Yankees, or anybody else who appears in this chapter. This is for no profit and probably not a lot of public recognition, but because my muse will absolutely pummel me to death if I don't create it!

Enjoy!

* * *

Breakfast cereal.

Max chuckled to himself as he rounded the corner at Main Street and headed for the snazzy office building that was the jewel of downtown. He looked entirely out of place, a kid in jeans and a t-shirt wading through the sea of corporate humanity on their way to another day at the office. But if anyone spared the boy a glance, he didn't bother to notice. After all, there were far worse places he'd been summoned to.

"But…the toy in a cereal box? Really, Virgil?" Max sighed to himself, shaking his head. Of course, after the countless cryptic and specially-placed messages, very little surprised him anymore; he practically expected to receive a summons every time he turned around. Still, this was definitely a feat, even for a ten-thousand year-old Lemurian. "How'd he get it into the box, anyway? I better ask Felix if his Super Crunchy Sweeties had the demo CD and get it from him. Figures. Felix gets the new song by V-Pop, and I get a new mission from V-irgil."

As he followed a particularly distracted man through the revolving door that was the skyscraper's entrance, he shrugged to himself. Actually, Felix could keep the CD. It was kind of small potatoes compared to saving the world.

Waving away the woman at the front desk who began her routine of, "excuse me, sir, guests must check in at the desk" prior to noticing that he was, in fact, a kid, Max felt a skip in his heart. The portal was close; he could tell. The long list of adventures on his resume, along with more than one experience of touching the very cosmic power that fueled the Cap, had sharpened his senses over time. Before the Cosmic Cap even began its customary glow, Max knew where he would find his destination. Fortunately, it was within yards.

Unfortunately, it was also in the middle of the office complex's elaborate water fountain. About four feet behind a guard.

But Max wasn't the Mighty One for nothing. With a sudden sprint, he ducked under the arm of a corporate suit talking loudly on her cell phone and made for one of the odd ceramic shapes that passed for art at the edge of the fountain. The guard, apparently woken from the obvious boredom of staring at the 8am rush, lunged for him. However, a portly company security man was definitely no match for a determined kid, especially a determined hero kid.

"Sorry, but I gotta catch a chicken!" Max quipped with a smile. With a practiced motion, he dodged the guard's grab, setting his foot squarely on the outstretched arm, and used it to launch himself to the top of the sculpture. Though wet and not a little slippery, the Cap-Bearer quickly regained his balance even as the portal before him opened with a sound of distant thunder. Cognizant of the many staring eyes from the lobby, Max leapt easily from his perch to the spinning vortex, hitting it with the precision of an Olympic diver. The office disappeared, and the portal carried him to wherever his next adventure waited. With a familiar jolt in his middle, Max braced himself for the end of the ride, when the real world would come rushing back. There was the customary flash of light…

And the Mighty One fell into empty air.

He was falling forever, rushing through space as gravity prepared to do its damage. Turning over and over in the wind, Max felt a shout fail to get past his heart and stomach which had jumped into his throat. He was vaguely aware of greyness all around him and below him, but that "below" thing was really what worried him. He was becoming light-headed in the fall and wondered if this time Virgil had made the worst possible miscalculation.

"Gotcha!"

The abrupt change in direction, from downward to sideways, stole any remaining breath from the Cap-Bearer's lungs, but he didn't care. On the most primitive level, he was aware of himself going weak as he no longer felt himself falling to his death. But on another, slightly more useful level, he recognized the voice that had exclaimed in his ear, and that voice meant that everything would be all right. He gulped air.

"Norman…what…?"

"Hang on, Mighty One," Norman said. The Guardian was, of all bizarre things, swinging back and forth on a rope between two enormous buildings like an urban Tarzan. Evidently, he had been positioned perfectly to catch the Cap-Bearer mid-fall on one of his wide arcs. Norman gripped his boy tightly under one arm, the other holding firmly to the stout rope, and, with the agility of a cat, twisted his body such that their momentum carried them over the rooftop of a nearby, lower edifice. He released the rope and landed precisely next to where Virgil stood waiting.

"Well done, Norman," Virgil said nonchalantly as the Viking set the boy on his wobbly feet. "Greetings, Mighty Max."

"Hiya Virg," Max replied, still trying to get a normal amount of air into his still-tight chest for purposes of respiration. "That was some ride. Very fun. Can we never use that portal again? Ever?"

"I apologize, but it was the quickest way to get you here, and of course I calculated the exact moment of your arrival to coincide with Norman's timing, so no harm done. In general, I too would prefer some other means of getting you here whenever possible."

"Where…? All right!" The Cap-Bearer broke off his question as he took a look around and exclaimed with excitement, his recent, near-fatal fall paling in significance compared to the dawn of a new adventure. It took only a moment to identify the skyline around him, and the possibilities therein. "So, what's the trouble in the Big Apple? The Empire City? The City So Nice…"

"New York," Norman interrupted. He knew that look on Max's face – the boy could go on for quite a while if he weren't stopped before he got into his rhythm.

"Evil has reared its ugly head once again, Mighty One, and you are the only one who can avert it," Virgil intoned. Max nodded, but kept listening. Virgil said that, or some variation on that line, every time they called on him. He wondered if it was part of the Lemurian's contract. "There has been an unprecedented uprising in the number of demonic attacks in the city of late, and they portend something sinister on the horizon. The very world may be at stake."

"Demons? What, like taking over people and making them spit up and turn their heads all the way around?"

"I eat demons for breakfast," Norman smirked.

"If you two are quite done, this is rather serious," Virgil admonished. Though his tone was severe, somewhere inside the Lemurian smiled. Their levity may have been out of place, but it was a way in which both the Guardian and the Cap-Bearer chose to cope with the danger that often surrounded them, and it signified, among other things, that both of them were well in spirit, ready to take on whatever horror might be waiting. It was the day that the Mighty One lost his humor that Virgil dreaded, for that was the day these tasks would begin to eat away at a soul surprisingly resilient, but young and innocent nonetheless. There were hardened warriors who might not have endured all that Mighty Max had survived in his short time as a hero, and that he did it and remained whole was as much a miracle as the rest of his inborn destiny.

"As I was saying," the fowl continued, "there has been a rash of incidents involving demons lately in the city, and I fear that without our aid, some catastrophe may befall the world. But there is no time for speculation now."

As Virgil gestured, Max followed his feathered finger to the scene on the street below. People were spilling out the doors and even the first-floor windows of a nearby building, and their panic was evident. Inside, on the second floor, the boy could make out a form through the windows, and he suppressed a shudder. Demons. Great.

"Why can't we ever have a normal day out?" Max joked, tugging absently on the brim of his Cap. Its presence, and the odd warmth that had nothing to do with temperature that it radiated, reassured him. Virgil nodded with a knowing look. Norman gave his boy a thumbs-up.

"Okay, then. Time to punch in!"

--==OOO==--

"Note to self," Max said as he bounced off a doorframe before successfully taking cover around a corner, "battling in a brownstone is not fun."

"I don't have room to swing," Norman grunted, as he brought his sword forward into a defensive posture. The building, probably an office converted from an old sweatshop, had low, cramped rooms which were now cluttered by cubicles. It had been hard enough for the enormous Guardian to make his way against the rush of escaping people without inadvertently crushing them; now, trapped between an 8-foot ceiling and a dozen tiny workstations, he was less than amused.

"Even if you could, I believe you would do more harm than good," Virgil replied, gesturing to the already somewhat-decimated office. The Lemurian considered climbing on a desk for a chance of seeing above the cubicle walls, but decided against it. Everything else aside, he'd never live it down if he admitted to being too short to see.

"So what do we do about it?" the Mighty One asked, scrambling over a fallen chair to stand beside Norman. The first few minutes of their encounter had not gone particularly well. The demon, a weird cross between an alligator and a gorilla, seemed primarily interested in lobbing large pieces of computer equipment at anyone in the vicinity. And after gracelessly avoiding two monitors and a computer tower, tumbling into an open filing cabinet in the process, the Cap-Bearer was ready for this fight to be over.

"I'm all for fighting fire with fire," Norman decided. Sheathing his sword, the Viking grabbed a printer-copier from a cart and flung it at the demon. At the same time, the creature, perched on the top of one of the cubicle dividers, hefted a giant coffee-maker and launched it in their direction. The pieces of office equipment met in midair with explosive results. Ink, hot water, shards of plastic, and pieces of metal flew everywhere. The Guardian instinctively curled down to protect Max and Virgil from the debris.

"I don't think that worked, big guy!" the Mighty One shouted. "But it did give me an idea!"

Sprinting from his friends, Max took a flying leap and landed on a mail cart, sending it zipping down the open aisle between desks. Picking up velocity with every second, he angled himself for a fallen stack of binders. The mail cart hit the improvised ramp at top speed and launched into the air. The Cap-Bearer rode it like a skateboard, flipping up the heaviest part of the cart just before leaping to safety. The cart hit the demon head-on, knocking it from its place and slamming it into the wall. Max stood up with his arms raised in triumph.

"And the crowd goes wild! Let's hear it for Extreme Office Sports!"

"Mighty One!" Norman shouted a warning.

Max whirled to see the demon rising from the mess of letters and packages, its eyes burning. It snarled once in abject fury.

"Nice demon…" the Cap-Bearer chuckled nervously, backing slowly towards where his Guardian was gamely trying to force his way through the mess to his charge. "No hard feelings, right?"

With a scream, the demon attacked, practically taking to the air as it targeted the boy. Max instinctively flinched and ducked, dropping down and backwards.

"Now!" came a new voice. There was a crackling roar that almost reminded the Cap-Bearer of the portals, and a bright flash of light. When he looked up from the floor, he blinked in amazed, and grateful, surprise. From the direction of the stairwell, four streams of energy, bright as lightning but somehow coarser, were holding the demon in mid-air, confining it against the demon's most vicious struggling. Max pulled himself to his feet as Norman and Virgil reached him.

"Throw the trap, Peter!" shouted another voice. From over a cubicle wall, a small metallic object, about the size of a shoebox, came soaring, trailing a cord behind it like a tail. It landed almost at the Cap-Bearer's feet.

"Whoever you are, get clear of the trap and close your eyes!" That was all the warning Max and his friends needed; as one, the heroes ducked to the side. With a sudden whoosh, like a cyclone being released, the trap sprang open. A blinding light flashed and the demon screamed. Norman pulled Virgil and Max down, shielding their faces from the light. The air around them pulled inward, and for one heart-stopping moment the Mighty One felt the Cosmic Cap being sucked off his head. Then there was an audible snap, and the wind, the light, the noise, and the demon all vanished.

"What a rush," Max commented, extricating himself from Norman and standing up. He touched the Cap briefly, assuring himself it was still there, before turning around. There was a crunch of someone, or several someones, wading through the ruined office, and four people appeared. They all wore modified versions of the same jumpsuit, carried serious artillery openly in their hands, and yet somehow seemed entirely unfazed by the recent disaster.

"You guys all right? You know, most people run away from ghosts and spooks, not towards," the red-haired man smiled, his face friendly and open.

"Well, we're not most people," Max returned good-naturedly. "But then, neither are you. You're the Ghostbusters, aren't you?" Any kid worth his salt knew all about the protectors of New York City, and the Cap-Bearer could easily identify the strangers from everything he had ever seen or heard or read or dreamed about them.

"That's what it says on our uniforms," Peter quipped, winking at the boy.

"Wow! The real Ghostbusters! Wait a minute. How come you guys don't look like the guys in the movies?"

"I'm getting real tired of that question," Winston grumbled, kicking some office-equipment remains from the path.

"It's the way of the 'biz' kid," Peter answered theatrically, "a mystery unto itself."

"Hey! Look out! A were-chicken!" Everyone turned to where Ray was pointing. Immediately, the four men raised their weapons and pointed them towards Virgil.

"Not again," groaned Egon as a pained look came over his face.

"A…what?" Max asked confused. Norman, however, did not hesitate. Although his duty as Guardian technically only involved the Mighty One himself, the Viking was not about to let four gadget-wielding geeks hurt the Lemurian with whom he had spent the last five thousand years. Grunting a challenge, Norman interposed himself, sword drawn.

"Nobody touches the chicken."

"I am NOT a chicken!" Virgil protested from behind the Guardian.

"Wait, wait, wait a minute! Everybody chill out," Max said, waving his arms and carefully stepping between his Guardian and the Ghostbusters. "Give me a minute here, big guy." Norman obediently relaxed his posture, but he left the sword in plain view.

"If that thing's a were-chicken, it's really bad news," Winston said reasonably. Another shrill "I am NOT a chicken!" was ignored.

"Actually," Egon said, having pulled out his PKE meter, "they're telling the truth. I'm not getting the right readings for a were-chicken, and believe me, I should know."

"You sure?" Ray asked. Virgil peeked around Norman's side, his face indignant.

"For the last time, I am not a were-chicken. I am not a chicken at all. I am a Lemurian fowl, actually," he said in his most prim voice. Of course, the effect of it was slightly lost due to the hulking Viking scowling at everyone beside him.

"I'm sure. They're definitely not normal, though," Egon said. As the other Ghostbusters relaxed only slightly, the blonde adjusted his meter and focused it on each individual before him. "The chick…er, fowl, was it? The fowl is not like anything I've ever seen before. He's not human, and he's not exactly mortal, but his PKE level is surprisingly low. The gentleman with the sword," causing his companions to blink and Max to giggle at the word applied to the outwardly barbaric Guardian, "has a higher PKE level, but appears to be largely human."

"I am human," Norman snorted.

"And the boy," Egon ignored the comment and turned his reading towards Max, "is perhaps the most unusual of all. Definitely human, but he's got a PKE that's almost off the charts."

"I do?" Max asked. Then, snapping his fingers, he pulled off the Cap and held it out from his body. "No, it's this you're seeing."

"A ball cap?" Peter asked. "What, does it guarantee that the Yankees win or something?"

"No, he's right," Ray said, leaning over Egon's meter as the latter adjusted his target. "Whatever it is, it's not what it looks like."

"Fascinating," Egon said.

"Look, we can explain things but maybe now's not the best time." The Mighty One put a hand on Norman's arm, a silent signal to stand down. The Guardian grunted once, then sheathed his sword and crossed his arms. Peter nodded to the Ghostbusters, who stowed their proton accelerators as well.

"All right. Why don't you come back to the firehouse with us and you can tell us about it?" he offered. Max nodded and even Virgil managed to look less offended. The Ghostbusters turned to lead the way out of the building. "In the meantime, it's time to get paid!"

"Hey Virgil?" Max asked as they cleared the disaster that had been an office an hour before.

"Yes, Mighty One?"

"How come I don't get paid for this?"


	2. Make Believe

Hiya! So, I left this thing sitting for half of forever and then, after finishing my TMNT/Godzilla crossover, I just felt the plot that had eluded me slam back into my brain full-force. This story, I am happy to report, is DONE. I'll try to put chapters up pretty frequently, but I am also conscious of not spamming people. So we'll see. Maybe one or two a day every week-ish?

Yeah, nobody's reading this thing anyway, but I don't much care. I wrote it because it needed to be written, and I'm tickled pink if it makes someone other than me happy.

So here we go!

Final note, as always – I do not own Mighty Max or The Ghostbusters (Real or otherwise). I'm just borrowing them for a bit of a trip in the light of day.

Enjoy!

* * *

"So, you're telling us that Max is some kind of mighty kid…" Winston began.

"Mighty One," Norman corrected automatically.

"Whatever. Mighty One, then, who got picked by destiny to save the world. And you're a Lemurian bird…"

"Fowl, actually," Virgil sighed.

"Sorry. Lemurian FOWL and he's a ten-thousand year-old warrior and you follow the kid around and vanquish evil, and you don't think there's anything strange about that?"

"And you guys chase ghosts and demons all over New York City with laser-tag guns. What's your point?" Max asked. He could understand Winston's reaction, but it hardly seemed fair.

"He's got us there," Ray remarked.

"Hey, at least we're old enough to vote and drive," Peter pointed out. "Heck, you're not even old enough to shave."

"You know, far-fetched as I find their story to be, age is not a good determining factor for competence, or for heroism," came Egon's voice from the corner. Everyone turned to stare at him. The brains of the Ghostbusters had been sitting at his workstation quietly, asking no questions while Virgil explained himself and the others, simply listening.

"Yeah! Um, what do you mean?" the Cap-Bearer asked. Drawing his eyes down from the ceiling, which he had been idly staring at for most of the conversation, Egon met and held the boy's gaze.

"Simply that your youth should not be held against you. After all, everyone else on this team was remarkable as a child as well."

"That's true!" Ray exclaimed. "Winston was the best Little League-er in the tri-state area when he was ten, beating the pants off the high schoolers. And Egon, you built your first computer when you were…eight?"

"Seven."

"Right. And I reconfigured a radio kit to control garage doors when I was nine. And Peter…" Ray trailed off, unsure.

"My accomplishments are too vast to number," he shrugged. Of course, it was a bluff, and everybody knew it, but they let it slide. "But you've got a point. We've met kids braver than most grown-ups."

"And grown-ups who think they're still kids," Winston poked Ray jokingly.

"Hey!"

"But that does not change the fact that I find your explanation to be highly suspect for other reasons," Egon continued, ignoring his teammates. "First of all, there is no mention in 'Tobin's Spirit Guide' of the Lemurian race you claim to belong to, Virgil. And eloquent as you appear to be, I am not entirely convinced that you are not a paranormal being. Second, in spite of the fact that Norman does demonstrate characteristics of a far more primitive man, you have offered no explanation for his supposed longevity. And finally, I fail to see how exactly Max is anything but the bearer of a potent item. While I cannot dispute the properties of the Cap itself, given that all my readings agree with what you have said, you have yet to share any evidence that the boy himself is special. No offense," he finished as an afterthought.

"Wait, what are you saying?" Winston asked. Egon spoke to the Ghostbusters, but never took his eyes off Max.

"I'm saying that I do not believe these individuals are what they say they are. Their story is illogical to the point of being fantastic. I also seriously doubt if they are as altruistic as they claim. In short, I believe we ought to investigate them for a while, keep them under observation for a few days. Perhaps then I can determine how much of what they say is true and how much is what they would like us to believe."

"You want us to lock them up?" Ray said as his eyebrows hit his hairline with disbelief.

The Mighty One closed his eyes. He took a single breath, his body becoming quite still.

"Virgil, Norman," he said, and there was steel in his voice, "let's go."

"If that is your will, Mighty One," Virgil replied, without even a touch of irony in his voice as he stood. Norman said nothing, but immediately abandoned his posture leaning against the doorframe and fell into his place along with Virgil beside his boy.

"Wait, where are you going?" Peter asked.

"There's evil out there in the city right now," the Cap-Bearer said, and there was a certain heaviness beyond his years in his voice. "You know it and so do we. You don't have to believe us if you don't want to. But we have a job to do, and we're not going to let you stop us from doing it."

"But you don't even know what you're dealing with," Winston pointed out. "You might need our help."

"They don't even intend on dealing with it, I suspect," came Egon's voice, suddenly scathing. "They just want to get out of here before I prove that they're not telling the truth."

"Egon, chill out," Peter admonished. But Egon ignored him, standing and moving towards Max with a set jaw.

"I don't need you to believe me," returned the boy.

"Moreover, I also conjecture that your friends may actually be responsible for the demonic outbreak in the city. Given the strange readings I got from all of you, I would hypothesize that you are far more dangerous than you are noble. Thus, leaving us now that your story has failed to win us over is your only option unless you want to find out how the proton packs feel at close range."

"Egon, I think you've gone too far," Ray warned. He could almost literally hear Norman's hackles rising. Though the enormous force of a man looked as still as a granite statue, there appeared to be a small snarl hiding in his face somewhere.

"Honestly, I don't care if you think we're good guys or bad guys," Max said calmly. Though sort of scrappy for his age, the Cap-Bearer had pulled his shoulders in and was facing Egon proudly. "I'm done asking for people to understand the destiny I've been given. I know what it means, I know what I have to do in the world. I almost lost everything, more than once, to learn that. I don't need to convince you that I'm the Mighty One. I would think that people who deal with ghosts for a living would be a little more open-minded."

"Then prove it. Here and now. If you all are what you say you are, you should be able to demonstrate it to my satisfaction."

"No."

"You see?" Egon turned to the other Ghostbusters, who were somewhere between chagrined and openly fearful. "He's not willing to submit to tests, because he knows I'll prove he's a fraud. Or worse."

"Egon, I really, really think you've gone too far this time," Winston said, cringing as Norman drew his sword. The Viking's face was set, impassive, and his entire posture was one ready to pounce.

"Are you afraid? Is that it?" the scientist demanded, eyes blazing. Max met them unflinchingly.

"No. But I don't have to prove anything, to you or anybody else. I am the Mighty One. Norman is the Guardian. Virgil is a Lemurian. These are facts, and we live and fight by them every day. And we're wasting time. So leave us alone and let us do our job, or I'll have to tell Norman to make sure you don't stop us. Either way, if you won't help, we're walking out right now." Max felt the blood pounding in his ears even as he kept his voice steady. He was taking a big risk and he knew it, but it was the only thing to do.

"So, assuming we let you leave, you intend to walk out of here, find the source of the demonic outbreak in the city, and take action to stop it, all on your own? Without any effective weapons or equipment?" The scientist practically sneered at the impossible feat.

"It's what we do." The words echoed in the room, the rock-solid certainty with which they were spoken trickling through the sudden quiet.

"Then I guess I have no choice." Egon stepped forward, his gait decided. Norman prepared to intercept him, but fell back after a curt gesture from Max. The scientist reached the boy and they stood, staring at one another. Then, Egon smiled.

"Well done, Mighty One."

"Thank you."

As jaws dropped all around the room, Egon chuckled. "How long did you know?"

"Almost from the beginning. You're good, though. Would've fooled anybody else." Max grinned.

"Fooled anybody else? Egon, what's going on?" Peter demanded, somewhat petulantly. Egon turned to his friend.

"I was testing him. The real Mighty One supposedly has legendary powers of persuasion and courage, and I wanted to know how much they had manifested at his young age."

"Wait, you were playing 'bad cop' the whole time?" Ray asked incredulously.

"Man, you are good," Winston said approvingly. "Even had us fooled."

"Just because Peter never lets me have a turn at it, that doesn't mean I don't know how to play the game," Egon smirked.

"So you do believe us, then?" Virgil asked, himself also fooled by the performance. But the Lemurian was exceptionally pleased. His Cap-Bearer had done very, very well.

"Yes, I do. I took another PKE reading of the Mighty One when he allowed me to examine the Cosmic Cap, and established that, while he is entirely human and mortal, he has a very strong PKE field of his own, although it is entirely unlike any other I've ever seen. It is most similar to the kind of energy doorways between dimensions create, thus validating their claims. Also, it should be noted that while there is no mention of the Lemurian race in 'Tobin's Spirit Guide,' there is indeed an entry for the Cap-Bearer, also known as the Mighty One."

"There is?" Ray asked excitedly. He grabbed the Guide from the workbench and quickly brought up the entry. "Wow, this is neat! Listen!" He began to read aloud.

"_The Mighty One is a human being chosen by fate who is destined to fight and defeat the demon Skullmaster. He will possess the Cosmic Cap, and with it, the powers to transcend space and time. A force of good against evil, the Mighty One will be accompanied by a Guardian and a mentor who will protect and serve him loyally. Of note, the Mighty One has been rumored to be no more than a child, but one still extraordinarily gifted with bravery, eloquence, and insight."_

"So you knew all along and you still made us go through the whole long explanation?" Max accused, though he was smiling. He had been somewhat sure that Egon had been bluffing, but he wouldn't have bet his life on it, and had he been wrong, the fight between his friends and the Ghostbusters would not have been pretty.

"The entry in the Guide is remarkably sparse, after all," Egon replied calmly. "And, as I said, I wanted to test you. There aren't many boys your age saving the world, you know."

"Okay, so while reality is still catching up with me," Peter said, shaking his head, "can we just get one thing straight? Do we agree that these guys really legit?"

"Looks like it," Winston shrugged. Ray nodded.

"I think so. Tobin backs them up, and so does the PKE. Besides, it does make a certain amount of sense. I mean, if we're going up against demons, having somebody destined to handle a demon is pretty useful. And if you're somebody destined to save the world from demons, why not join up with the Ghostbusters?"

"Okay then. So that means that the next time…" But before Peter could finish his thought, a shrill alarm sounded through the firehouse. The four Ghostbusters, without missing a beat, jumped from their positions and raced for the stairs and fire pole. It took the Cap-Bearer a moment to process what the alarm must have meant before he sprinted after them, sliding down the pole with relish. As Ray ran to the front desk for their assignment and the rest of the Ghostbusters got themselves suited up, Max looked back up to the floor above where Norman and Virgil remained.

"Come on, guys! This might be one for us!" he called.

"Mighty One, physically speaking, I don't believe that Norman and I…" the Lemurian began. But before he could form a complete protest, the Guardian had grabbed Virgil by the back of his robes and simply jumped through the wide hole in the floor, landing easily beside the boy.

"Never mind," Virgil sighed.

"What have we got?" Peter asked, taking the job sheet from Ray while the latter pulled his own suit over his clothes. He skimmed the page quickly. "Oh, great. Looks like yet another demon. Did the whole underworld decide to hold a convention or what?"

"We're not sure yet, Peter," Egon put in, leaning over to inspect the note. "That's why the Cap-Bearer is here."

"So does that mean they're coming along on the job?" Winston wanted to know. He eyed them appraisingly.

"Give us a sec, okay?" Peter said, waving Max and his companions to the side while the four Ghostbusters huddled. "What do you think, guys?"

"Seems okay to me," Ray said, shrugging. "Max has the guts to handle himself, I think. And, I mean, it's fate."

"He's just a kid," Winston protested, "and hero or no hero, some of these calls are not places I'd want a kid to be. We deal with serious stuff, if you hadn't noticed."

"On the other hand, he is also the destiny-appointed champion who has probably saved the world as many times as we have, if not more," Egon put in. "Young as he may be, I'd like to watch them in action, see if I can identify what exactly it is about the Mighty One that makes him…well, mighty."

"Besides, what ghost is gonna give us trouble with tall, burly, and armored over there?" Peter said, tilting his head towards Norman.

"So we're agreed?" Ray asked. Winston narrowed his eyes, but nodded.

"I'll go along with it, but I'm telling you, this is no job for a kid, no matter how good at what he does. I don't like it."

"If you hadn't noticed, the Mighty One has an appointed Guardian who is entirely devoted to his protection," Egon pointed out. "I think Norman will be more than adequate to watch over him should anything occur."

"Okay, then," Peter straightened up from the huddle, turned, and beckoned to the other three. "Time's a-wasting! You guys in?"

"You bet!" the Cap-Bearer shouted. And with his heart racing in anticipation, Max joined his new and old friends in the Ecto-1 unit and prepared himself for anything.

Or so he thought.


	3. Close Encounters of the Demonic Kind

See! Told you I had more!

Still don't own Mighty Max or The Real Ghostbusters. If I did, Mighty Max would have more seasons and a DVD release. Just sayin'.

Enjoy!

* * *

"You know, sometimes I wish I'd stayed working construction, or even the Marines," Winston mumbled to himself as he looked up at the building before them. The storefront lights were flickering ominously between the blinds of some swinging shades, and a portly, balding man stood nervously outside, staring anxiously. It looked like a neighborhood grocery store specializing in Mediterranean food. Which meant that, although the smells that wafted out would have been enticing on any other occasion, today they were combined with the unmistakable odor of sulfur, turning even the most hardened stomach.

"Yeah, well, I'll take this over math any day," Max replied cheerfully. One of his chief amusements was to keep track of which classes he was currently missing at any given point in time thanks to his destiny. Of course, Virgil would make him pay for it later, but that wasn't worth dwelling on at the moment.

"Can you tell us what happened?" Peter asked the store owner.

"I was checking stock in the back room when I heard a noise. And when I turned around, I saw this…thing," the man replied, gamely holding his voice steady. "It said something I didn't understand, and then it started tearing the place apart. So I got out and called you guys."

"I'm reading a very powerful entity inside," Egon said, adjusting his glasses as he studied the PKE meter. "Definitely demonic."

"We'll handle it from here," Ray assured the man. "Okay, men…and, er, fowls," he stumbled as Virgil gave an indulgent smirk, "let's go."

"Norman," the Lemurian ordered curtly, "remember that the Ghostbusters are better equipped than we are to actually combat the demon. We will focus on protecting the Cap-Bearer and attempting to learn what evil may be occurring here."

"Ah, don't worry about it, big guy," Max assured his large friend who looked slightly crestfallen. "I'm sure you'll get at least one shot at it."

"I eat demons for breakfast." He'd already said it once today, but there was no point in not enjoying the sentiment another time.

"Remind me not to ask you to do the cooking," Peter shuddered as he pushed open the front door and led the way inside.

The store was quiet. Row after row of groceries led from the front to the back, dividing the space into low aisles. Banks of fluorescent lights above flickered feebly, casting shadows that danced weirdly. Peter could have sworn he heard a scuffling sound from somewhere nearby when he first entered, but as the others cautiously followed him, it fell entirely silent. In spite of the bright sunlight outside, the drawn shades kept the place dim every time the lights failed.

"This way," Egon said curtly, pointing in the direction that seemed to be the origin of his readings. "It's not far."

"Spread out," Winston said. The other Ghostbusters immediately fell into a habitual pattern, all moving in the same direction but from different vantage points and angles, each near enough to find the others in an emergency. As they crept forward slowly, a sudden blast of cold whipped through the store, and the lights went out completely.

"This is becoming a lot less fun," the Mighty One said nervously. He and Norman and Virgil had decided to follow Egon down the row of cheeses and dairy products; Max attributed the refrigerated section as being the cause for his goose-bumps.

"Listen. Hear that?" The Guardian stopped moving. Virgil, beside Max, tipped his head to one side while the boy and Egon exchanged a look. They couldn't hear anything.

"Normie, I think you've got water in your ears…" the Cap-Bearer began, before he, too, became aware of something. But it wasn't on a level he could hear, not exactly. Rather, it was like a thrumming in his head. The face of a warrior woman who had once spoken to him about intuition flashed in his mind. Things clicked.

"Look out!" The Mighty One moved without thinking even as he shouted the warning. Diving forward, he tackled Egon in a sudden rush of adrenaline. The Ghostbuster, unprepared for the attack, went down like a ton of bricks, the two of them skidding across the tiled floor and coming to rest at the base of a display of pasta. It took both less than a second to collect themselves, but when Max looked up, he knew what he would see; he had just barely caught a glimpse of it when he had been airborne.

Where Egon had been standing a heartbeat before, a demon was deeply imbedded into the floor, sunk up to its knees in what would have been the Ghostbuster's head. The creature burned with a fierce light of its own, and orange eyes narrowed maliciously. Where the demon in the brownstone had been almost comical in its odd mix of attributes, this one was a true gargoyle, menacing and sinister. And approximately the size of New Jersey.

"Yah!" Norman bellowed, charging the demon with sword drawn. As Max climbed to his feet and gave the somewhat-bruised Egon a hand, he was aware of his Guardian's success, or lack thereof. Claws against sword and strength against strength, they battled.

"Thanks," Egon breathed as he finally righted himself.

"Any time. Now, how about a plan?" the Mighty One asked, looking between Virgil and Egon.

"How about we blast him?" Ray joined them, armed and ready.

"Too risky – we could hit Norman," Egon replied shaking his head.

"Look at them go," Winston whistled appreciatively, appearing to the side with Peter just behind him. They watched the titans battle for a few more breathless seconds, until Norman's human strength failed against demonic power. A blow sent the Guardian backwards into the milk section, where he bent the racks out of shape and ended up drenched in the cold liquid. Max dashed over to give his friend a hand. The demon screamed in triumph.

"Hey, don't cry. It's only spilled milk," Peter quipped.

"I believe this would be an excellent opportunity for you to attack," Virgil commented as the creature began to advance on them.

"Right. On my count. One…two…three!" Egon shouted. The four Ghostbusters opened fire on cue, their streams illuminating the dark space. As they expertly caught the demon in their twisting energies, the creature yowled. But not as it had before; this sound was different than pain or anger or even fear. It was, of all things, almost rhythmic.

"What's it doing?" Ray asked as he tightened his beam and took a step closer.

"I believe it may be in the process of…" Egon began.

"Calling a friend!" Winston finished. From above, an identical demon crashed down through the ceiling, snarling in its rage. The Ghostbusters were trapped; if they broke off their attack against the one they had contained, the other would have a free run at them. As Peter began to hurriedly pull a trap from his belt in the hope they could dispatch the first in time, a blur went by in his peripheral vision.

"Hang on guys! We got this!" the Cap-Bearer yelled. "Normie, gimme a boost!"

The still-sopping Guardian, without even breaking stride, scooped up his boy and launched him into the air. Max landed on the demon's back, where he promptly did the first thing that came to mind – he covered its eyes.

"Mighty One, what are you thinking?" Virgil demanded, his own eyes wide.

"I'm kinda making this up as I go!"

"Pete, the trap!" Ray shouted, turning back to the demon they did have somewhat under control. Woken from his surprise at the kid's antics, the Ghostbuster flung the trap out. A flash of brightness and the first of their problems was contained.

"Okay, somebody wanna give me a hand?" Max asked. He had fixed his knees around the neck of the demon, and as he continued to cover its eyes, he was looking vainly for some way of incapacitating it. Distraction was good, but he could only irritate the thing for so long. Below, Norman launched a huge melon at it, striking a leathery wing and knocking it somewhat off balance. The Ghostbusters got into position.

"Jump, Mighty One," the Guardian ordered.

"Don't have to tell me twice!" As the Cap-Bearer disentangled himself and started a controlled fall from the creature, he felt himself suddenly snag in midair.

"The Chosen One!" squealed a deceptively high voice beside his ear. "She will need you."

"Don't fire!" Peter yelled, more to stop himself than anything else. All four men knew what could happen to the boy if they tried to use their proton accelerators now.

"Hey, much as I'd appreciate the ride," Max chuckled, trying to worm out of his t-shirt which was tangled in the demon's claws, "I think I'd rather walk." He kicked out sideways, trying to loosen himself enough to drop to Norman's waiting arms.

"I think not!"

Usually, the Mighty One's maneuver would have worked. He was very skilled when it came to escaping from bad guys who got their hands on him, much to Norman's eternal fury. But what he had not counted on in this particular case was that, even when he broke the demon's hold and twisted away, this demon had really dexterous feet. And really good reflexes. The creature lashed out with a set of wicked toes and fastened them around Max's arm like a band of steel.

"Okay…not good," he muttered. "Norman! Your turn!"

"I'm coming, Mighty One!" Enraged, the Viking leapt into the air intending to grapple the demon directly. He managed to grab hold of the creature's long, thrashing tail. "Hang on!"

"Like I've got a choice," the Cap-Bearer returned.

"Oh, but you do," the demon cackled. Max turned his head as best he could to find himself looking straight at Virgil, who had been scooped up by the demon as well. With a barbed claw against his feathered neck. The boy could have kicked himself. Who knew these demons were that smart?

"What do you want?" Ray shouted, hoping to buy some time for Norman. The Guardian looked a bit like a rag-doll at the end of the creature's tail, but he held on anyway.

"You are coming with me," the demon said, transferring the Mighty One to his other arm or front claw or whatever it was and staring him in the eye. "What you get to decide is who else comes along and in how many pieces."

"No," Virgil wheezed around the grip on his neck. "Mighty Max, you know your duty."

"And I know mine!" Norman growled dangerously. With a final battle cry, the Viking managed to use the demon's lashing tail to swing him in close. His blade blurred through the air, and black ichor flowed. And everybody yelled.

It was only his famous luck that allowed Max to not land painfully when he fell. Instead, he managed to bounce off something and plop soundly into a tall pile of bags of rice. Which were not, in point of fact, soft, but better than the broken bottles and demolished shelves and hard floor that was his other option. The demon's arm still around his wrist, shorn clean off by his angry Guardian, made the boy shudder.

"Virg?" he called worriedly. In the darkness, he could really only see the demon screeching above as it flailed in pain.

"I'm here," came the familiar voice.

"Yeah, now get off!" replied Peter, grunting. The Lemurian obediently removed himself from that which had softened his fall.

"Guys, now!" Winston yelled. The remaining three Ghostbusters opened fire again, but the demon was moving rapidly away, dripping and screaming as it went. It reached the front of the store and unceremoniously flew through a window, flooding the space with sunlight as it rent the blinds. Before any of the heroes could adjust to the sudden illumination, the demon was gone.

"Mighty One, are you all right?" Norman appeared next to the Cap-Bearer, sword still dripping with both milk and now demon-blood. He lifted his boy down from his perch and, with a deep scowl, removed the claw that had remained attached to his arm.

"Yeah. You know me – I ride demons every week," Max tried to laugh. He rotated a shoulder painfully, feeling it pop back into a more comfortable place, and avoided looking his Guardian in the eye. He had almost screwed up big-time today, and he knew it, but he shook it off as best he could. After all, some days he was a tried-and-true hero, and some days he just couldn't get the bounces.

"I said it before and I'll say it again. You've got guts, kid," Ray remarked as he wandered over, followed by the rest of the Ghostbusters. Max winced as he saw the bruise on Peter's head from what must have been his impact with a certain Lemurian.

"You okay, Virgil?" Norman asked. The ancient fowl actually looked remarkably composed.

"Indeed. Flightless as I am, I am still built to fall with a minimum of damage. But, what do you have there?" he finished, pointing at the claw the Viking still held.

"Fascinating," Egon commented, leaning in. "Its ectoplasmic structure is remarkably solid even after amputation for a largely non-corporeal being."

"Actually, I was referring to this," Virgil said, pointing to a spot on the creature's palm at the base of its fingers. As everyone looked more closely, they could make out a shape, like a scar or a tattoo. It was a triangle pointing down, and along the top line there was a single mark, a weird sort of backwards "c" that was angled downward.

"What's it mean?" Winston asked. Egon stared at it for a few seconds, then traded a look with Virgil. His face was grave.

"I think it means we're in very big trouble."

-==OOO==-

They were walking out of the store, trap held high in victory, which Peter said was good publicity even if nobody felt very victorious, when Max snapped his fingers. Leaving the Ghostbusters to talk to the media from the van that had pulled up, the Mighty One slipped through the small crowd to where the shop-owner stood, looking at his broken window sadly. Norman and Virgil followed at a distance, not least because they were not as able to weave between pedestrians, onlookers, and the pair of cops who appeared on scene.

"Hey…sorry about your store," Max began, sticking his hands in his pockets. The lined face of the man before him brought the reality of the situation home. Here was a person whose livelihood had been threatened and damaged, and nothing any hero could say or do would make it right. The Mighty One felt his jaw tense; he hated when people got caught in the middle of his fight against evil.

"The damage is done. Thank goodness for the Ghostbusters. They're real heroes, even if they can't do everything," he replied wearily as though reading the boy's mind. "And you, what are you, some kind of Ghostbuster-in-Training?"

"No, I'm just a friend," the Cap-Bearer deflected the question. Thinking fast, he rephrased what he had been about to say. "They asked me to come over and ask you a question for them."

"Anything. Shoot."

"Well, you said before that the thing in your store said something you didn't understand when you first saw it." The man nodded, waiting. "The Ghostbusters wanted to know if you remembered what it said exactly."

"Oh. Well, if it'll help…sure. I remember it said something in another language, something that sounded like 'pithy.' Pity? Pitchy? Pithos! That's it!" he nodded emphatically. "Repeated it a few times, 'pithos, pithos.' What's a pithos?"

"No idea. But maybe the Ghostbusters will know. Anything else you remember?" Max pushed.

"Yeah, come to think of it. When it was saying that word over and over, it was kind of looking at the ceiling, like…praying or something."

"I don't think demons pray," the Mighty One grumbled.

"You said it. But then it looked right at me and suddenly talked sense, you know, English. Said, 'chosen one' and started to come at me. That's when I bolted."

"Chosen One? You're sure?" Max asked, feeling his heartbeat quicken in dread.

"Yup. That's it. Hey, tell those guys thanks for me, okay?" the store-owner smiled, though it looked a bit like an upturned grimace. "The store's still in one piece mostly, and they got that thing and scared off the other. Not a bad deal."

"Sure I will," the Cap-Bearer nodded, absentmindedly making his escape and rejoining the others. He was aware of Norman putting a large hand on his shoulder, ostensibly to help him navigate through the little crowd around Ecto-1, but Max took comfort in it anyway. His friends had definitely heard what the man had said, and they knew as well as he did that it meant extra trouble. And they were in it with him.

The boy thrust his chin out and piled into the car ahead of Peter, who was busy monopolizing the attention. Looked like this particular adventure was trouble with a side-order of bad-guys-targeting-him-specifically. Might not have been his favorite position to be in – in fact, the only thing worse was when somebody was held hostage to force his hand, as had already happened today – but it was part and parcel to this job. And like it or not, the Mighty One was going to make things work so no other people lost their business or their home or their safety or anything else on this one.

Whatever it took.


	4. Storytelling

Sorry for the delay. Dealing with a massive sales meeting before the biggest concert of the year. Figure I ought to get this out before the week gets any more insane!

Don't own Mighty Max or the Ghostbusters, and I really apologize for the misuse of Greek mythology and the Greek language. I blame Wikipedia. Which I also don't own.

Enjoy!

* * *

Max had thought his day couldn't get any worse. Famous last words.

"This stuff is disgusting!" he exclaimed, shivering as the cold goo trickled slowly over his skin.

"I've told him a thousand times not to slime people," Janine said despairingly as she inspected the boy critically. "But he just doesn't listen. Looks like he got you pretty good, kid."

"Slimer! Get down here!" Peter ordered. He, at least, looked at least as annoyed as Max felt. The boy's so-called friends were definitely not helping: Norman just raised an eyebrow at his now-green charge and Virgil was actively snickering. Neither of them had lifted so much as a finger to get between him and a very excited little ghost; they had practically pushed him into its path! From through the floor above, the culprit appeared and floated in front of Peter apologetically.

"Slimer, you know better," Ray put in, shaking his head. Winston, having just deposited their most recent catch in the containment unit, threw the Cap-Bearer a towel, which he took gratefully.

"I know, I know," the ghost said in his nearly-incomprehensible voice. He began to chatter at high speed, but the only words that made any sense were "friend" and "hero" and "saved Egon."

"While it's true that the Mighty One likely saved my life today," the scientist in question commented, "sliming him was perhaps not the best reward."

"Next time, don't tell the story when he's in earshot, okay?" Janine pointed out, helping Max shake some goo from the Cap. "And kid," her voice got suddenly softer, "thanks."

"Sure, anytime."

"Now, Slimer, no more sliming the Cap-Bearer, okay? You don't wanna mess up the only Cosmic Cap in the world do you?" Ray asked.

"Yeah. And if you slime him again, I'm taking my shot," Peter declared.

"Peter, come on," Winston said, "you don't mean that."

"Oh yes I do."

"Well, good. Somebody has to teach him a lesson someday," Janine glared at the green bane of her existence.

"Getting back to the situation at hand," Egon interrupted the endless argument that was the defining debate of every late night at the firehouse, "we have quite a bit of data to go through."

"You don't know the half of it," Max agreed, pulling a glob of slime out of his ear. Geez that stuff got everywhere! In a few short words, the Mighty One explained what he had learned from the store-owner. His information required immediate research, so the team left Janine to handle the desk while they headed to Egon's lab.

"Chosen One and 'pithos,' huh?" Ray thought, leaning in his usual chair. "What do they mean?"

"Well, 'pithos' is an ancient Greek word for a large jar," Egon supplied. His fingers began to fly over the keyboard of the computer as he began checking every source and cross-reference he could knew of for the type of demon they had seen.

"And the Chosen One means you, doesn't it?" Winston asked Max. Max nodded.

"Usually," was Norman's gruff response.

"Great. Boy, your job's about as much fun as ours," Peter commented sympathetically.

"Yeah, well, you get used to it," the Cap-Bearer sighed.

"Do you?" Ray asked. His round face, so cheerful most of the time, was suddenly shrewd, even though his voice remained upbeat and curious.

"Sorta," was the answer the boy finally gave after a few seconds of thought. But even as he said it, something inside felt wrong. He was used to the calling of destiny, he was. He accepted it, would even serve as the Mighty One willingly if asked. So why did he feel so lousy about it? "Enough to manage, anyway."

"All right," Egon interrupted whatever reply Ray had been formulating, "I think I've got something. But…it doesn't make sense."

"I, too, believe I have some insight. Please, share what you have uncovered, and then I will tell you what is at stake," Virgil said. The Ghostbusters stared momentarily at the fowl, surprised by his confidence, and their expressions won a small smile from the Cap-Bearer. They didn't yet know that the Lemurian wasn't boasting when he said he knew what was going on.

"Very well. The two demons we fought in the grocery store are known as Zeugnyo, which is a very old Greek word for 'yoked.' They are supposedly bound in servitude and obedience to a particular individual, but the only reference I could find for who that is were the words 'Anathema Hallusko.' Anyway, they appear in anticipation of whoever they serve, and they often do his or her dirty work. I suspect that, if we were to look at the other recent demonic encounters, many of them would also have the same symbol. They have come in the service of something larger."

"So what doesn't make sense about that?" Ray asked. "We've seen that before. Remember Zuul?"

"How could we forget?" Winston grimaced.

"Yes, but the only reference I could find to the symbol, the only time that symbol ever shows up in anything, is to the story of Pandora."

"Pandora?" the Mighty One repeated. "You mean the old Greek story about the girl who opened the box and let all the evil into the world? And the only thing left in the box is hope? That Pandora?"

"Yes," Egon replied.

"No," Virgil said at the same time. Everyone turned to look at the Lemurian, who sighed and took up his lecturing posture.

"There are a series of common misconceptions about the myth of Pandora that have been repeated ad nauseum for eons," he began. "Some of them your scientists and archeologists have discovered, such as the mistranslation of 'box.' The word used in the ancient Greek was, in fact, 'pithos,' meaning jar. There is no such thing as Pandora's Box; there is only Pandora's Jar."

"Tell that to my history teacher, will you?" Max joked.

"Okay, so it's a jar. So what?" Peter wanted to know.

"I'm afraid that the story of Pandora bears little or no resemblance to the version recorded by Hesiod and subsequent writers. The symbol we saw upon the demon's claw is indeed that of Pandora, and what it portends could very well mean the end of the world. But to start, you must know the story that, it appears, we are all destined to be a part of."

"Wait a minute," Winston interrupted. "How do you know all this anyway?"

"Besides that I am very wise and know practically everything?" Virgil replied with a smug look. "Because the Lemurian civilization, though in its infancy, was present for these events, and thus, their knowledge lives on in me. You could say I was there, although that would be technically inaccurate."

"And how long ago was this exactly?"

"By your reckoning? Approximately 100,000 years ago."

There was a pause while everyone in the room attempted to take in that piece of information, and then a sort of stifled cough from Egon, who did not appreciate being struck dumb more than once in a conversation. The scientist was not used to not being the most knowledgeable in the room.

"Uh…fascinating. I would very much like to discuss your knowledge of prehistory, in that case."

"Of course. May I continue now?"

"Just a minute, Virg," Max said, looking around the lab before darting to an old couch in one corner. He plucked a cushion from it, saying, "Get comfortable, guys. When he gets like that, you're in for a long story. On the plus side, he's a lot less boring now than he was when we first met." Obediently, the other Ghostbusters found themselves seats, putting them all essentially on a level with the ancient fowl. Norman sat resolutely on the floor beside the Cap-Bearer, who was now sprawled on his stomach, his head on the cushion. He grinned at Virgil, who glowered back, but with no bite in the expression.

"Thank you, Mighty One. Now, allow me to explain what it was that transpired so long ago, and what, therefore, is now coming upon us in the present…

"Long before your race had even begun the process of building the very first civilization, the world was very different. Monsters were far more commonplace, as were the lesser and greater gods who ruled with strength, either for good or for ill. In the area that eventually became known as Sumeria, the cradle of civilization, the land was watched over by a gentle goddess, a being of creation and light. Her name was Anesidora. Though it was a cruel, harsh land, the people who lived and died under Anesidora's reign were always well-protected. Her name means 'all giving,' and it was quite true. She was a goddess of the earth, of life and fertility, and she warmed the lives of her followers openly, walking among them and earning their affection and love. But this was only one side of Anesidora. For she was also the guardian of an item so dangerous, so evil, it could be entrusted to no other on earth.

"It had no name, but it was known to every creature capable of recognition: a jar, more ancient even than Lemuria, sealed with adamnite, the very metal of the gods, and black and cold as death itself. This jar was no item of significance without substance, not a symbol unto itself; it was, and still is, perhaps, even more dangerous than the Cosmic Cap. For while the Cap can break the laws of time and space, the jar was the very force that held evil in check.

"Now, the common story of Pandora is such that her jar contained all the evils of the world which, when released, began to plague mankind. This is entirely untrue. The 'evils' as they were named in this mythological version, such as disease, death, and suffering, were already present in the world as they are tied to mortality and life along with joy and birth. This jar was not responsible for bringing the unfortunate aspects of existence into the lives of men. Rather, it was a binding, a force holding back all the greater evils of the world. You see, demons, such as the Zeugnyo or Skullmaster himself, were not in the world then. Although even Lemurian history does not tell us how or when, it is known that cosmic forces of good, early in the time of the earth, sealed them all away, locking evil into a cage from which it could never break free. All these beings, countless millions of entities of pure evil, were contained within Anesidora's jar, and she was its keeper.

"But one day, the jar opened. How and why is lost to us – the Lemurians never knew what transpired that dark day. Anesidora was away from it at the time, and its long-held evil began to spill into the world as creature after creature, each worse than the last, darted from their prison. Comparatively weak, they were able to more quickly escape the inherent cosmic force of the jar the way a flea more easily evades the net. They are known as the Anathema Hallusko, the 'set apart, accursed escaped ones,' those beings now free to wreak havoc upon an innocent and helpless world. Anesidora returned to her jar as quickly as she could, but she could not undo what had been done. Every second, more and more evil was pouring into the world unchecked, and it was only the beginning. For deep within the jar were truly wicked beings, and given enough time and power, these creatures more evil and destructive than the most wrathful gods themselves would have escaped and remade the universe however they saw fit. All creation was at risk. Anesidora had no choice but to seal the jar at once, even leaving the Anathema Hallusko free in favor of allowing far worse beings to escape.

"Anesidora sacrificed herself, casting her own god-born self into the jar to use her spirit and powers to restore the broken seal. The pain it must have caused to do so is unimaginable. And thus should have ended the story, but for the myth that lived on and the events of today. For, you see, the name "Pandora" comes to us from the last demon to escape the jar before Anesidora's selfless act. Pandora was Anesidora's opposite in many ways, although not quite as powerful for she was not fed by the love and devotion of any followers. She was a minor goddess of deception and cruelty, and she had burned to flee the jar and unleash her evil against the innocent. Pandora, liberated from the jar and among the most powerful beings to escape before Anesidora's interference, strode out into the world to forge a place for herself, thinking that her powers and guile would serve to set her up as a queen over the earth.

"The jar itself, now resealed, disappeared, and all it had unleashed spread across the globe. Over time, however, Pandora discovered that her powers of evil could not compare to the good already in our world, and she therefore came to believe that without greater beings of evil to magnify her own strengths, she would never command the earth. The myth of Pandora became, therefore, not a telling of history, but rather a prophecy.

"For it has long been Pandora's desire to re-open the jar and release the remainder of the evil it contains into the universe and leave Anesidora, who became known as the hope of the world, locked away, thus assuring evil's dominion over creation without interference. The symbol we encountered today on the Zeugnyo's hand proves it: Pandora is seeking the ancient jar, which means she must at last have a way of opening it and freeing her brethren without releasing Anesidora as well. The Anathema Hallusko are looking for the jar, and when they find it for her, Pandora will see the world overrun by evil unlike anything we have ever seen before."


	5. Perspectives

I have to confess, this was one of my favorite chapters to write in this story. Getting under the skin and into the minds of the Ghostbusters, who were relatively new characters to me, was an interesting challenge. I know Max and Virgil and Norman pretty well, but these guys surprised me with where they started to take the tale. From here, it really stopped being my fic and became a creature of those acting within.

Same disclaimers, no particularly interesting means of repeating them.

Enjoy!

* * *

"So what do you think?"

Egon turned at the voice to see Peter leaning casually against the doorframe. The scientist sat up from where he had been lounging on his bed and waved his friend over. Peter slumped comfortably on the bed next to Egon's, tucking his hands behind his head nonchalantly. But though his face was relaxed, there was still a light in his eyes, the same that served him so well when reading situations. Or people.

"To tell you the truth, I'm just not sure," Egon said after a silence. The firehouse was particularly quiet for the moment, and he enjoyed the relative peace. Ray and Winston had taken Slimer to the park to play fetch, and Janine was happily reading downstairs without her green friend to make her books gooey. And the Mighty One, Norman, and Virgil had all disappeared; the Lemurian had said he wished to consult some ancient manuscripts "back home" and had excused himself. Of course, for Virgil to get wherever home was, he required the use of the portals, and for that, the Cap-Bearer, and since Norman wasn't about to let the boy out of his sight, the trio had left for the moment. It gave Egon a chance to sequester himself in the common bedroom to think.

"It sounds pretty crazy," Peter replied. "But then, I mean, we've seen crazy stuff, too. Like the Doomsday Door. Remember that? And really, what's the difference between a door and a jar?"

"Yes, but the whole scenario is beyond belief. Granted, we know perfectly well that there are plenty of ancient gods connected to this world. But do you have any idea what the odds are that another god would come to New York in the span of our lifetimes to bring about the end of the world?"

"About the same as me inheriting the Statue of Liberty?" Peter quipped.

"Just about, yes." Egon pulled off his glasses and wiped them automatically, although they weren't particularly dirty. "And the idea that a totally unknown civilization was around 100,000 years ago without leaving any evidence, and of which some members were not even human, is truly astonishing."

"You're just bummed because Virgil knows more than you do. It's hard to be second-best for once, isn't it?"

Egon glared at Peter. The self-proclaimed leader of the Ghostbusters was making a face universally dreaded by the rest of the team. Unlike the expression that usually preceded a snarky comment, or the quirk of a smile that meant he was about to make a terrible pun, this face was irritating for a whole other reason. Certainly, Peter presented himself as a jokester who rarely got a clue, but it was a front and everybody worth their salt knew it.

Without really studying, Peter had gained a doctorate in both parapsychology and psychology. Some of that was due to his ability to manipulate Ray and school administrators, but some of it was because of the truest natural gift Peter possessed. If Egon were the genius of the team, Ray its heart, and Winston the voice of reason, then Peter was the one person who had the sharpest perception of his fellow man. The psychology degree was well-earned, even if he had never done a true day's work on it. Peter could read a stranger at twenty yards and knew how to manipulate practically anybody when he troubled himself about it.

The particular expression Dr. Venkman was turning on Egon at the moment was a deliberate "tell," a warning that he was about to lay bare the things his friend was not saying. Because, although Egon had far more in common with Ray scientifically, it was Peter to whom he had become close after forming the Ghostbusters. Peter was his foil, the comic to his straight man, the one familiar with human nature when he was entirely out of his depths.

Egon may have been among the foremost minds in the country, but he couldn't tell a distressed adolescent from a toaster. And Peter, who could, if he bothered, psychoanalyze a shoelace, was almost oblivious to all the basic science, physics, metaphysics, and history that ought to have formed the core of his parapsychological knowledge. They were, in fact, almost total opposites, and, as they both knew on different levels, they were good for each other.

"Come on, Egon. If you were really fascinated by all this, you'd be in your lab knee-deep in tests and research. But you're not – you're hiding up here. And I think I know why."

"All right, Peter. I'll bite. Why?" the scientist rolled his eyes, but he slumped a little as he said it, signaling defeat.

"Because you don't like it."

"Of course I don't like it," Egon frowned. "We're looking at yet another scenario which could mean the end of the world. We're going up against another ancient god-like being. What's to like?"

"That's not what I mean." Casually, staring at the ceiling, Peter's voice was confident. "It's tough for you to have Virgil around. It's gotta be. You're used to knowing everything and being the smartest and maybe you aren't with him in the room. But it's more than that. Just by being here, Virgil also means that there's a whole huge amount that you don't know, that nobody knows, about the history of the world. And there are evils out there bigger than Gozer that never even showed up in Tobin. In one little chicken, you just found out how much we don't know, and it scares you."

"It doesn't, as you put it, scare me," Egon replied testily. "Although you are correct that it concerns me gravely the amount of ignorance we have been operating under. Imagine what would have happened if the Mighty One hadn't come, hadn't been here at all. I…probably wouldn't have known what we were really up against. Or what to do about it. I still don't."

"Yup. But on the other hand, you can't really resent Virgil for being what he is. Heck, I'd guess you're glad that he and Max and Norman are out there, you know, doing their thing, just like we are. I know it makes me feel better. It's kinda nice knowing that there's somebody else trying to save the world from evil. Means we're not fighting this battle alone."

"There is that," the blonde conceded quietly. Under the depth of his scientific interest in the supernatural, beneath his curiosity and passion for the study of such unusual and uncharted realms of physics, Egon carried within him a spark to protect his world. It had been his suggestion to cross the streams against Gozer, knowing very well it could mean his own death. Likewise, when the Doomsday Door had opened, Egon went in fully expecting that he and the others would never escape it if they intended to save the world. From his toes to his eyebrows he was a scientist, but in his heart, Egon would give whatever it took to drive away the demons that dared to haunt the innocent, such as the Boogeyman or a thousand other monsters like him. And knowing that the Cap-Bearer was similarly dedicated, able and willing to protect the world at any cost, eased his mind somewhat.

"But you know what I think is really under your skin?" Dr. Venkman, fully worthy of the title, broke Egon's train of thought, looking him straight in the eye.

"What?"

"They do it all without any gadgets."

Egon felt himself take a slow breath in, then sighed.

"Yes, Peter, that's exactly what's bothering me. The PKE meter failed today, if you didn't notice. I only picked up one of the two demons in the area. It's never been wrong before, not like that. And the Guardian dispatched the second demon with a sword. A sword, Pete. Now, I realize that the sword itself may not be entirely normal, but still. What if we're out of our league on this one? What if all our equipment isn't going to be enough this time? The Mighty One saves the world by his inborn gifts and destiny – we don't have anything like that."

"See that? That's where I think you're wrong," Peter said, relaxing once more.

"Wait, what?" The comment caught the Ghostbuster entirely by surprise.

"How do you know we don't have a destiny to be part of this? Just because we're not in 'Tobin's Spirit Guide' doesn't mean anything. The Lemurians weren't in there either. I've got a good feeling that we're supposed to be doing this. You know, busting ghosts. And if we're supposed to be doing this, then obviously we're going to be part of whatever goes down in the area, right? Including this thing with Pandora. And that means that if we're supposed to be part of it, then we have a part to play."

"But our equipment…"

"Yeah, the proton accelerators are useful, I'll give you that. But it isn't the stuff we use that makes us Ghostbusters, Egon. Why is it that every time it gets bad Ray finds a way to make us all laugh, or at least not feel like we're all about to die? How come Winston always sees the obvious when we're too busy complicating things to notice? And don't tell me you don't know that your brain has come up with more ways to get us out of trouble than I have excuses not to do the dishes."

"I've recorded 384 unique excuses so far, including today's reference to a headache from Virgil's spectacular choice of landing pad," Egon found himself smiling slightly.

"Exactly. Ray and Winston and I all know that being a Ghostbuster is more than a job, even if that's how it started. And you know it, too. It's the right thing to do, the only thing any of us could do with ourselves right now. Maybe someday that'll change, but today we're Ghostbusters. And the Ghostbusters look out for the city. So if something is going down on our turf, we're supposed to be part of it." Peter stood up and stretched languidly.

"Peter…" Egon began.

"Look, quit worrying about how much you know or how much technical whatever you've built and whether or not it works, okay? It works. You've always come through for us before. If you haven't built it yet, you'll have it done by the time we really need it. If it's broken, you'll fix it. It's your brain, Egon, not your accessories, that make you a Ghostbuster. Just like being the Mighty One has nothing to do with the fact that Max has a neat Cap. It's in his blood. It's in yours, too. You'll see."

As he made his way out of the common sleeping room without a backward glance, Egon felt his face quirk in annoyance even as his spirits lifted. Leave it to Dr. Venkman to know exactly what would offer both comfort and sage advice, and to say it like it were the most obvious thing in the world. Egon pushed his glasses into place and rose from the bed. Pete was right – he did have a part to play in the events unfolding all around them, and if he was going to be of any use, he was going to need to spend some time in his lab first.

Purpose once again strong and mind focused and clear, the scientist made his way to his workstation and began to try to determine why his PKE meter had failed and, if possible, to do whatever was necessary to correct it. Because he knew they were going to need it.

-==OOO==-

"Pretty crazy, huh?" Ray remarked to Winston as they sat on a bench. Nearby, Slimer was amusing a group of children with his faces and expressions. Irritating as the green slime-ball could be, the little ghost had a good heart and was awfully useful in helping children face and overcome their fears. Though most ghosts were bad, there was definitely an advantage to showing people, especially the youngest inhabitants of the city, that friends came in all shapes and sizes and states of matter.

"You mean the thing with Max and Pandora's jar and the rest of it? Yeah," Winston nodded. "I feel for the kid especially. He's got a raw deal."

"You're telling me. Imagine being his age and having to face danger like this! We're grownups and I don't like it half the time!"

"But we get a choice in it, Ray. He doesn't," Winston's face hardened. It was well-known that all the Ghostbusters had a soft spot for children, no matter how much they tried to hide it, and Winston perhaps more than the others. Egon protected kids out of a sense of not wanting them to face what he had endured at that age; Peter genuinely liked kids because they were so much less complicated than their older counterparts; Ray was practically a kid himself in his heart anyway. But Winston was the Ghostbuster who had mentored neighborhood children since he'd been a teen himself, whose heart got warm every time a younger friend smiled in relief or joy or thankfulness or laughter. Max was just a kid, a kid who was in a rough spot and who had to handle things way beyond his years. And Winston did not like it.

"I think he does, though," Ray said after a minute. "I mean, no, he's definitely the Mighty One by destiny and all, but I feel like he's okay with it. It's not a burden to him."

"It is a burden, Ray. It has to be. Would you want to save the world instead of hanging out with your friends?" Winston replied.

"Well, yeah!"

"Okay, of course you would. You're you. But he's just a kid, Ray."

"Yeah, but I still think it's okay. I mean, they're not forcing him into it. He fought today all on his own. And they take care of him. I mean, Norman won't let anything bad happen to him. And those portals look like fun!"

"You don't get it. He doesn't have to get hurt for it to be bad for him. He's just a kid," Winston insisted. His eyes found a seven-year-old girl who was playfully pulling on Slimer's arm, enchanted as the little ghost made it get longer and longer with each tug.

"That's the thing, though," and Ray's voice lost its customary lightness to the solid sound of certainty that came from his big heart, "I don't think he is."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, think what Max has gone through. He's not an average kid. He's a survivor, a fighter. He might not be grown up yet, not on the outside, but I think his heart is way past his years. He's just not a kid, Winston, no matter how much he looks like one. He's a hero. And you know it."

Winston grunted, but said nothing. Ray looked at his friend a few moments longer, then spontaneously jumped to his feet. Without warning, the cheerful Ghostbuster joined the children in their antics, playing freely with Slimer as though no more than a boy himself. Winston, watching, sighed. Ray was probably right. Max, the Mighty One, wasn't a kid even if he wasn't very old, any more than Ray was an adult. They just…weren't. And, honestly, Winston was glad. Because the Cap-Bearer had a heart as light as Ray's with the strength and fortitude of a man, and he would definitely need it. Winston was sure of it.

-==OOO==-

"Back already?" Janine called as three familiar shapes made their way through the firehouse doors.

"The Cap is the only way to travel," Max said brightly, leading the others to her desk. "I only wish I got points for the miles!"

"Do you want me to get the guys?" Janine couldn't help but notice that Virgil's nose, beak, whatever, was buried in a dusty old scroll and that all three smelled very faintly of cow manure. The Mighty One had mentioned that the portals tended to connect in pretty round-about ways; Janine decided she didn't really need to know how they had gotten to and from wherever the Lemurian lived.

"We can go find them. There's no rush, I don't think." Max turned to look at his mentor, but Virgil was still ignoring him, so he shrugged. "Whatcha reading?"

"This?" Janine held up her book. "It's my copy of Homer's _Odyssey_. With all the Greek stuff going on, I decided it would be a good time to re-read it."

"Not a bad idea. But I already read it once, thanks to Virg and my mom," the Cap-Bearer replied. At a confused expression from Janine, he clarified. "See, my mom is an archeologist, so she's big into history. Which means I learn lots of stuff from her. And Virgil, well, you get it. And they both decided I needed to read it last summer, so I did."

"Seems a little advanced for you," Janine remarked, only a little skepticism in her voice.

"The Mighty One is quite intelligent," Virgil said without even lifting his eyes from the scroll. Norman grunted.

"Well, whatever. They said it was good for me because…something or other to do with me and Odysseus."

"That Odysseus, like Hanuman, like the Coyote legend, are all reflections of the same sort of hero that you are, Mighty One." Now Virgil was looking up in interest. "They all use wit and intelligence rather than brute force, and they are renowned for their abilities to both persuade others and anticipate the actions of an enemy. As do you."

"I still think I'd rather be tough," Max joked.

"That's my job, Mighty One," Norman said, smirking.

"And, in point of fact, we also asked you to read it to show you the dangers of pride, to which all such heroes are prone. You do have a habit of being just a bit too certain of yourself, and one day it may be your downfall," the Lemurian warned.

"Yeah, look what happened to Odysseus. Got Poseidon so mad at him it took him ten years to get home. So the moral of the story is: don't taunt the gods until you're already on your own doorstep." Janine smiled at Max, who grinned in response. She liked the kid and he liked her – both were snarky, outspoken individuals, and both were quick to sling insults when roused. They understood each other perfectly.

"Works for me." He turned to say something else to Virgil, but the ancient fowl was once again deep in his reading material. Max rolled his eyes. Evidently it was reading time for everybody. The Cap-Bearer moved from the desk to the fire-pole that he definitely envied. He had had an idea and there was no better time to try it. He did need to get upstairs sooner or later. "Hey, Normie? Got a question for you, big guy…"

-==OOO==-

"I did try to warn you about your hubris, Mighty One," Virgil sighed. For the third time.

"Yeah, I heard you before. How was I supposed to know Peter would be right there?"

"This just isn't my day." Peter groaned and shifted his position slightly. The Ghostbuster and the Cap-Bearer were stretched out on the couch together, facing opposite ways, with identical ice-packs on their heads.

"It would have worked, too," Max grumbled. He testily pushed the ice into a more comfortable position and tried to ignore Norman's half-concealed grin. Sliding down the pole was fun; he just wanted to see what would happen if he tried to slide up it. Now, short of rewiring gravity, the only way the Cap-Bearer could think of to simulate sliding up was to grab onto the pole and ask Norman to give him a rather fast boost. This had been fine, especially since Virgil had been so distracted by his scroll as not to notice what his ward was up to, until, as Max cleared the first floor and went hurtling into the living room and kitchen area, he lost his grip on the pole. This would also have been fine except that instead of landing on the couch, or even with a controlled bump on the floor, he had crashed into Peter head-on. Literally.

"How many times in one day am I going to get hit by flying heroes?" the Ghostbuster moaned theatrically.

"Statistically, none, but chaos-theory states you have to get hit at least once by Norman for all to be satisfied," Egon said, an almost-smile quirking around the corners of his face. Peter eyed the enormous Viking and glared back.

"Have I told you today that I hate you?"

"Not yet."

"Okay, I think I'm fine now," Max said, tossing off the ice which was only contributing to his headache. "And if I try that again, sit on me Normie, okay?"

"If that is your will, Mighty One."

The Cap-Bearer ignored the remark and climbed off the couch. Peter was enjoying playing the wounded and helpless invalid, so the boy made his way to one side. Though he could feel the eyes of his Guardian on him, he allowed himself to sigh as he pulled a seat up to the window. He was really batting a thousand today: first getting surprised with the demon, then this spectacular bad luck. What was going on?

"Now, Dr. Venkman, don't move. This won't hurt a bit," Janine cooed as she returned to the couch with another bag of ice to replace the half-melted one that Peter had declared "too warm" to be of any help. He had pleaded with her to bring him another soothing pack to remove his pain and suffering, and she, surprisingly, had agreed. Gently, gingerly lifting the first bag from his head such that he barely noticed it was gone, she handed it to Egon.

Then, without warning, Janine dropped the second bag from shoulder-height, full of fresh ice-cubes, straight onto Peter's nose. And before he could react, she took back the first bag from Egon and upended it, freezing water and all, over his head.

"Yikes!"

"Get your own ice next time, you big baby!" And with that, the fiery secretary turned on her heel and stomped downstairs.

"Nice one!" Ray congratulated her as she passed. He and Winston and Slimer had appeared just in time to witness Janine's antics. Which meant that everybody had a good laugh, even Peter, after he dried off a bit using Egon's sweater.

"Don't take it personally."

"What?" Max looked up in surprise. How somebody as big as Norman could move without being noticed, let alone heard, was some trick. The Viking stood at his shoulder.

"Don't take it personally," the Guardian repeated.

"Oh, nothing personal about it. I'm just universally cursed today," the boy slumped.

"No. You aren't. But you're trying too hard. You did read the _Odyssey_, you know the story. Be the hero you are, and it will be enough. Stop trying to be more than that."

Max flinched at the words, but there was definitely truth to them. Ever since meeting up with the Ghostbusters, even before Egon's bad-cop routine, he had been trying to prove himself. These were the real Ghostbusters! Everybody knew their names, everybody wanted to be like them. Max didn't want to precisely be a Ghostbuster himself, but he did want to be good enough to roll with them. Norman was right. He had been in such a hurry to be a hero he forgot to be himself. The fire-pole stunt was purely what Bea would have called a "stupid guy thing," an attempt to prove how cool he was. But Max knew, in the depths of his heart, that being cool had nothing to do with saving the world, and as long as he remembered that, he'd probably be better off. And he'd quit embarrassing himself.

"Got it?" Norman raised an eyebrow at his young ward after a few moments when the boy was obviously thinking. The sheepish but bright nod the Cap-Bearer returned was enough for the Guardian to be satisfied. His boy was a hero, and he knew it – now, he just needed to be that hero and the rest would fall into place. Norman winked at Max and watched the tension fall out of the Mighty One's shoulders.

"Got it. Thanks, big guy."

"Mighty One, if you are again ready," Virgil said when the laughter had died down and Max and Norman had rejoined the group, "I believe I have the next step of our journey."

"Really? What did you find?" Ray wanted to know, leaning over the fowl's shoulder to peek at the scroll.

"It's more of a starting place than anything else. To prevent Pandora from attaining the jar and releasing evil into the world, we must find it before she does."

"Makes sense to me," Winston agreed.

"Yes, but from the moment Anesidora sealed the jar, it has vanished from the face of the earth. No one has seen it in recorded history in 100,000 years."

"So finding it won't even be as simple as a needle in a haystack. Typical," the Cap-Bearer nodded. It usually worked out that way.

"Precisely. Therefore, we must work backwards to, as you would call it, the 'scene of the crime' and trace the jar from there. And to do that…"

"We have to figure out who opened the jar and why," Egon finished as the pieces came together in his mind. "When we know its last known location and the person who last possessed it, we will be able to follow the jar through history to its current resting place. Assuming a reliable record of its passage can be traced, that is."

"Indeed," Virgil smiled. "And in order to begin at the beginning, which I believe we ought to do immediately…"

This time it was Max who interrupted.

"It's field trip time!"


	6. Anomalies

Two more for you! We're getting into the thick of it now, but we're nowhere near the end yet. No worries.

The research for this one was kinda weird. Did you know it's hard to find pictures of something nobody has ever been allowed to approach? This whole fic meant the history in my internet pages was pretty odd. Ancient Greek, particle physics, and Turkey. Good thing the work filters allow for Wikipedia articles!

Still don't own the Ghostbusters or Max and company. But if I did, they would totally have a party!

Enjoy!

* * *

In the history of the world, there were definitely worse ideas than this. After all, somebody had to be responsible for the "Song That Never Ends" or the very special fashion statement of polyester blue tuxedoes. But it seemed that there were very, very few blunders throughout the eons that measured up to this one.

"Keep your head down, Mighty One!" Norman's voice rang out. Honestly, Max was just as glad to let his Guardian handle this. He knew when he was totally out of his depths. Oh, monsters, evil sorcerers, aliens, he could take those any day of the week.

But war zones were another story.

"We've got to get out of here!" Egon shouted above the gunfire. The four Ghostbusters were as flat as they could make themselves behind the very slim cover that an overturned vehicle offered. Explosions rocked around them, sending sand flying into the air. They had no idea which of the attackers were from which side or even what sides might be involved. Bullets streaked through the air only feet from their hiding place.

"Virgil, find us a portal, whatever's closest!" The Cap-Bearer felt his heart hammering so loud it nearly drowned out the battle. Pressed against the hot ground, his instinct was to jump up, to keep the burning rock from his bare skin. But of course, that was why Norman was almost laying on top of him, shielding him with his entire body. The Guardian's reflexes had been so fast that Max was pretty sure he had been pulled out of the portal – he certainly didn't remember exiting it the normal way. One moment he had been in the space between space, and the next he was under Norman's bulk, suddenly aware that they were all in an extremely deadly position.

"I…just give me a moment…yes, the portal is about 30 paces that way," the Lemurian just barely raised his feathered hand to point. Squished between Norman and the Ghostbusters, the pint-sized fowl had never been so glad for his short stature or he might not have had a beak left with which to speak. "But I'm not sure we can get there."

"Oh, yes we can," Winston disagreed. He, ex-Marine that he was, had managed to remain calm upon finding himself in the heat of a pitched battle. It was Winston who had grabbed Ray and Egon and flung them behind cover, neatly kicking Peter's feet out from under him to get him out of harm's way. With a skill he had hoped never to use again, the Ghostbuster pulled his proton accelerator from its place on his back without lifting any part of his body above the relative safety of the burned-out car.

"What are we going to do?" Peter asked.

"Everybody get ready to fire. Aim for anything that doesn't move. We're not going to hit anybody – we just want to startle them long enough to get to the portal. But we'll have to move fast because everybody who can see us will start targeting us as soon as the surprise wears off."

"Attack pattern theta, then," Ray grunted, moving closer to the others as a bullet bounced in the dirt frighteningly close to his leg. "Run firing and don't stop."

"Oh, I don't think stopping's a real worry here, Ray," Peter replied a little shakily.

"Norman, you will need to get the Cap-Bearer and Virgil to the portal ahead of us," Egon added in a strained voice, readying his own proton accelerator.

"You got it." Though his voice was controlled, internally, the Guardian was furious. He absolutely hated that the Mighty One had been brought to such a place when they all knew that Virgil should have anticipated this scenario. The Lemurian was supposed to know these things! There was no good reason to subject the boy to this sort of needless danger, especially when it was the exact type of violence they often tried to shield him from on other adventures. Hero or not, no one should ever have to witness the brutality of war.

But a tiny spark of something positive also rumbled through the ageless Viking even as he shifted an arm to grab onto Virgil's robes. The Ghostbusters had reacted to this unexpected peril with true courage, remaining able even in the face of such overt violence. These were men of strength and honor, and he was pleased to see it. And he was even more proud of his boy, who was reacting to this, as with all things, with integrity and a cool head. Which, in this case, meant keeping said cool head down and letting his Guardian handle things.

"All right, men, on my mark," Winston said, tensing every muscle in his body. This was a pretty risky idea, really. There was no telling if either side in this battle would leave off fighting just because strange lasers would erupt out of the ground and burn through some nearby structures. If the soldiers were well-trained, they might not be stopped by anything, no matter how unexpected. Distracting, certainly, but was the tactic life-saving? Would it buy them enough time? Honestly, Winston didn't know, but it also didn't matter. There was no other good way out of this situation. And they definitely had to get out.

"Go!"

As the Ghostbuster's voice roared, momentarily cutting through the barrage of explosions and gunfire that surrounded them, the team reacted as one. Firing high above the heads of any individuals on the ground, the four jumped up from their hiding place and began to make their way in the direction Virgil had indicated. They ran, keeping their beams high and moving, slicing through rooftops and what might once have been street signs.

A step ahead, Norman barreled towards their destination like a football player, arms wrapped protectively around his boy and the ancient fowl. He could feel the heat of the proton accelerators almost on his shoulders, but he didn't care. The sound of the guns had momentarily stilled, and the Guardian wasn't about to let this one chance slip away.

"There!" The Cap-Bearer felt the familiar tickle that always preempted a portal a second before his Cap lit up with bright energy. The clap of the portal opening was lost in a sudden explosion just to their left. Earth and debris flew at them, and someone hissed in pain. Then, everything was gone as Norman bodily flung his boy and Virgil into the portal.

"Cut the streams before you jump!" Egon ordered, waiting until the last possible second. The very moment his proton accelerator was once again dormant, Norman hefted him into the spinning wheel of light. The scientist had realized that the equipment might have some unforeseen impact on the actual composition of the portal itself, and while it was certainly worth study, it was not, at the moment, worth field experimentation.

"Go, go!" Peter yelled, pushing Ray behind him into the Guardian's waiting arms. As soon as Ray was clear, he gave Winston a shove as well. "I'll hold 'em!"

Another explosion rocked the area and the guns began to ring out again. Peter sliced a bright beam right along a storefront that was apparently where a lot of the fire was coming from. As the stonework crumpled inward, the remaining Ghostbuster hit the off-switch and dove for Norman. Out of the corner of one eye he saw a grenade spinning in the air towards them. There was a deafening boom, and then the portal enclosed them.

-==OOO==-

"Is everyone all right?" Virgil asked, looking closely at each individual in turn.

"Yeah, thanks to Normie," the Cap-Bearer breathed a shaky sigh of relief. He didn't know where they were – some snowy mountain somewhere, but it was blissfully quiet and far from the battle. He gratefully took the thick coat from his Guardian as Norman handed around more parkas from the pack he'd been carrying. He shuddered to note the heat of the heavy material, reminding him less of the burning sun and more of the explosions at the moment.

"Ray, you're bleeding!" The Ghostbusters turned as Ray clapped a hand to his arm, halfway into his own coat, the empty arm flailing in the cold wind. Egon moved to examine it critically. "It's not bad, just a deep cut from some shrapnel. Nothing's embedded, so it could have been a lot worse."

"What about you?" Peter turned to Norman. "You stood there longer than the rest of us."

"I'm fine." The Guardian was standing like a monument, arms crossed, apparently completely at ease. Battles were familiar and didn't shake him anymore. But there was a touch of pallor on his face as he watched Egon bind up Ray's wound with expert efficiency. It could indeed have been so much worse.

"That was an excellent suggestion, Winston," Virgil commented, shaking snow from his robes with as much dignity as he could manage before taking the thick wrap. "I am certain that without your suggestion we would have been direly situated within moments."

"We were 'direly situated' from the beginning! Virgil, why didn't you warn us we were going into the middle of a battle?" Max demanded, feeling more of himself come back. "We could have been killed!"

"Um…yes. That is true," and the Mighty One could have sworn that Virgil was fidgeting inside the wide expanses of his sleeves, "but it was also unavoidable."

"Unavoidable?" Peter asked incredulously. "You told us there were portals everywhere, to everywhere. Couldn't we have taken a different one?"

"Normally, yes, that would be the case. However, the portal we just took to arrive here is the only one that will lead us to our starting point. There is no other portal nearby that is usable anymore. We are now in a part of the world that has undergone great changes time and again, and many of the portals here open inside of solid rock."

At this, Virgil waved an arm, encompassing the area. "This is Mount Ararat, the highest peak in Turkey. A volcano going back millions of years, most of the portals within sixty or so miles have been sealed by lava flows over the eons. Given the choice of an instant death upon crossing the event horizon or the possibility of injury in the battle, I felt our choice was clear. Time is too much of the essence to spend walking through the wilderness for days." Somehow, the fowl managed to sound both trite and haughty at the same time.

"You're saying it was either the war or wind up flat inside a mountain?" Winston asked.

"I suppose that makes sense," Ray conceded, tugging experimentally at the bandage Egon had pulled from one of his seemingly-bottomless pockets. "This was once a pretty geologically unstable area, and if the portals don't move, the mountains will."

"Yeah, but couldn't you have at least warned us, Virgil?" the Cap-Bearer asked. He couldn't dispute the Lemurian's logic, but that didn't mean he had to appreciate it. Norman made a grunting noise that earned a small smile from Max; apparently, the Guardian didn't like it, either.

"Would you have wanted to go if you'd known?"

"No." Egon's voice, though disapproving, was tinged with understanding.

"Exactly. Now, if you all will follow me, I believe we need to go this way."

-==OOO==-

"Virgil," Norman's voice was very quiet, such that only the Lemurian walking ahead of him would likely hear in all the snow-crunching noises they made. Virgil didn't turn around, but his shoulders twitched, indicating he had heard the Viking. "Why?"

"I told you already, Norman," he replied, turning not to look at the Guardian, but to ensure that the Cap-Bearer was out of earshot. But he needn't have worried – the boy was swapping stories with Ray, both of them probably trying to cheer themselves up by doing so.

"No, Virgil. You told them. Tell me."

"What are you asking me for?" Virgil asked testily. He understood intellectually why the Guardian had been chosen to protect Mighty Max, but it still irked him when Norman thought he had to protect their charge from Virgil himself.

"You brought us there. Almost got the Mighty One killed. And you didn't warn any of us. You didn't warn me, Virgil. Me. Why?" Norman's voice was cold, and there was unspilled anger behind it.

"What I told you already is not inaccurate. Neither you nor the Ghostbusters nor the Mighty One would have agreed to this course of action had you known, and there was no other plausible way," Virgil insisted. But the cold silence behind him got thicker somehow, and he felt his shoulders slump a little. "But perhaps I should have at least prepared you."

"Yeah."

"You do understand, though, that what we may be walking into here is far worse than any mere mortal battlefield?" Virgil looked back over his shoulder at the giant man behind him, taking note of the extremely tense set of his jaw and eyebrows.

"When it comes to the Mighty One, everything is dangerous," Norman replied flatly. "That's why I'm here. But your job is to guide him, not lead him into unnecessary peril."

"Norman, you know as well as I do that we've been in far worse situations than that before, even knowingly, even with the Mighty One's consent! Why are you so bothered now?" The Lemurian would have stopped and glared, but that would have brought the attention of the boy in question to them, and this was a fight better kept away from the Cap-Bearer for now.

"It wasn't the danger," Norman's voice was suddenly much softer. "Mighty Max is still young. He didn't need to see war, Virgil. Of course he could survive it. Of course I protected him. But he didn't need to see it. I can't protect him from that kind of thing, but you should have."

"I see," and the ancient fowl felt suddenly cowed. Norman was right, of course. The battle itself had not been any worse than dozens of similar situations they'd faced and overcome with relative ease. But war was unlike their usual tasks. This wasn't a megalomaniac sending robots after them. This wasn't Skullmaster and his minions threatening the boy, which was frightening enough, really. These were people, mortal, human people deliberately, violently killing each other.

"You forgot," the Guardian said, even more softly. "You've seen so much war, you forgot what it looks like to an innocent."

"Yes," Virgil admitted.

"Well, remember next time. I'll protect the Cap-Bearer's life, but you have to protect his heart. He isn't even a grown man yet, let alone thousands of years old. Don't jade him too soon."

"Norman, how…?"

"I haven't forgotten," the Viking interrupted the question, his anger dissolving into sadness. "Even after all this time, I haven't forgotten what war does to the pure-hearted. I'll never forget. And neither should you."

-==OOO==-

At some point in the middle of Egon's story about becoming a were-chicken, Max felt himself tuning everything out, his thoughts running inward. He'd followed Norman and Virgil to the center of the earth, on board spaceships, to other dimensions, to every corner of the globe. He'd been present for every end-of-the-world scenario imaginable and then some. He'd seen allies and enemies fall in combat, had seen innocent people in harm's way, and had been hurt himself a few times in the line of duty.

But he'd never seen war. Not like that. And he never wanted to again.

Max felt a tremor between his shoulder-blades, but he held still, knowing the thick coat would hide enough of his sudden tenseness. Nobody else was bothered, and he wouldn't let himself show anything either. But his eyes moved back again and again to the spot on Ray's arm where, under several layers, he could still remember the faint darkness that had seeped partially through the makeshift bandage. He couldn't close his eyes, though. Partly because the trail was rough and icy under them and he needed more than a casual awareness not to miss his footing. Partly because that would only draw more attention, and he didn't want that.

And partly because, when he blinked his eyes, the image of fallen soldiers, of death and bloodshed and hate, was painted there inside the dark.

"There!"

Max woke out of his self-imposed control to look at Egon's voice. Following the man's gaze, a few hundred feet up, something dark poked out of the snow on the side of the mountain. It was almost totally nondescript, just a lumpy blackish thing against the whiteness of the icecap, but it had straight lines that didn't fit with a natural rock formation.

"What is it?" Ray asked.

"The Ararat Anomaly," Egon replied, shifting his glasses. "According to 'Tobin's Spirit Guide,' it's what remains of Noah's Ark."

"Really?" Winston's voice was eager.

"No," Virgil's denial came back to them from the front of the line.

"Ooh, score twice now you've been wrong!" Peter jeered at Egon, who waved him away irritably.

"Don't make me find a way to scramble your genes into a combination of Slimer and minestrone soup, 'cause I'll do it, you know," Egon returned.

"Ahem," Virgil cleared his throat. He had turned and was carefully picking his way around Norman to rejoin them. "As I was saying, this is much, much older than the Ark. What you are looking at is the original seat of Anesidora's power. Within that structure, the jar was held for countless thousands of years, even long before humankind had fully evolved. If we intend to find the jar before Pandora does, this is its last known resting place."

There was a moment of healthy and heady silence as the group considered the implications of Virgil's words. Except for Norman, the kind of time he was talking about, the sheer age of what they were looking at gave them pause. Or, most of them.

"Then let's go!" the Cap-Bearer smiled brightly, edging around the Guardian to start climbing up. Norman shrugged and joined him, Virgil belatedly falling in behind them. The Ghostbusters exchanged uncertain glances.

"Well, we came all this way," Peter said, turning to find a hand-hold. "It'd be a shame not to get at least one souvenir t-shirt."

"Like Max said, let's go!" Ray grinned as he began the climb himself. Slightly less enthusiastically, Egon and Winston followed suit. Of course they were excited about the prospect of seeing something hidden from the human world for untold millennia. But, as the more pragmatic members of the team, they also understood the strong correlation between "legendary secrets of old" and "unexpected mortal danger."

But the whole group had plenty of time to consider the ramifications of their endeavor. The climb, while not, strictly-speaking, too difficult, proved troublesome anyway. It wasn't a vertical climb, and the snow meant any slipping was easily cushioned, but there was plenty of slipping. Max lost track of how many times Virgil squawked as the snow gave way under his clawed feet and he collided with whatever Ghostbuster was behind him – usually Peter. After the second domino-effect, where Virgil fell into Peter, who lost his balance and slid into Ray, who tumbled into Egon (Winston wisely climbing a bit off to the side and not under anybody else), Norman simply hauled the Lemurian onto his back to carry him rather than deal with retrieving him one more time.

By the time the seven of them had reached a flat outcropping of rock just below the formation, it had been hours since they'd set out from New York, and everyone was tired. Max threw himself down on the mountainside, staring at the dark form that loomed above them. It had looked a whole lot smaller from below – now it appeared to be the size of a baseball stadium. The air up here was thin and cold, which he would have expected, given that they were most of the way up a mountain. But there was something in the air the Cap-Bearer didn't expect, a scent he couldn't quite place. It wasn't the smell of ancient stuff that was so familiar from however many trips with his mom and however many adventures with Norman and Virgil. It was thicker, smokier, even a little bitter.

"Whew! Stinks up here," Winston said, crinkling his nose. Max nodded in agreement, and was about to respond, when he suddenly spotted something out of the corner of his eye.

"What's that?" But by the time he had turned all the way, there was nothing. Still, a prickle of dread gushed through his stomach and he stood quickly, facing the structure with his hands clenched.

"What did you see, Mighty One?" Virgil asked, stepping to his side. Norman moved to the other side, his posture signaling that the Viking was on full alert. Max glanced at him and smiled a little – his Guardian also seemed to sense whatever he had seen or felt.

"I…maybe nothing," he said slowly. "But this place gives me a weird feeling."

"Egon?" Peter asked, turning to the Ghostbusters' resident genius. Egon was already fiddling with his PKE meter.

"Nothing specific, but the whole area is steeped in ambient PKE readings. There's enough supernatural energy here to form several entities, so anything's possible. I recommend caution."

"And I second it," Ray said, shifting his footing carefully. "This rock is still kind of unsettled even after all this time. Don't want anybody going over."

"Why do you say things like that?" Winston groaned. "Now that you've said it, somebody WILL go over. Probably me."

As the Ghostbusters began to bicker cheerfully, Max turned back to the looming shape. It was enormous. And it felt…odd. Old, certainly, and he could sense the echo of power radiating from it. He'd met enough gods now to recognize the feeling. But that wasn't it. There was something else in the air that seemed to swirl around him, a feeling he couldn't quite identify.

"Mighty One?" Norman asked, leaving the question in his voice open. The Cap-Bearer shook himself and stood up.

"Right. We came all this way. Let's get a look inside."


	7. Inside and Out

Still don't own the principals, nor Martha Stewart (no thanks anyway). Nor the Ararat Anomaly itself, though that might be cool. But it would mean getting into it with the Turkish army/intelligence/whoever and I just don't have that kind of time.

Enjoy!

* * *

Peter forced himself to swallow, but he couldn't help gagging on the smell. Norman had broken through a wall to let them in here, and "stale" didn't even begin to cover describing the air in the Ark or temple or whatever it was. The lowest level, where they'd entered, had mostly been still more snow and a whole lot of darkness – obviously this area had flooded or avalanched or something eons ago. But as they picked their way through rooms so old and dirt-covered and faded and broken they could not be identified as anything in particular, a smell had begun to permeate the area.

And as they climbed higher, it only got worse.

"Gah. What is that?" Ray asked, trying to tuck his face down into his coat and hold his nose all at once. "It smells like somebody was burning rotten eggs with garbage and year-old Chinese leftovers."

"I don't know," Egon returned, covering his own mouth with a gloved hand.

"It is rank!" Max declared, scrunching up his face almost comically. "And I thought Norman's socks were bad!"

"Nobody said bathing was required in this job," the Guardian grumbled with the slightest twitch that might have possibly indicated a smirk.

"As repulsive as the smell is," Virgil attempted to say primly, choking a bit on the air, "this is, in fact, rather suggestive."

"Yeah, it smells like about a million teenage monsters ran through here after being cooped up too long," Winston said, raising an eyebrow.

"Precisely."

Looking around, Peter found himself making varying quips about the internal decorating of the structure, eerily illuminated by their roving flashlights. It sort of reminded him of a cross between what he'd seen in late-night Cleopatra movies and the creepy way reality tended to twist under the influence of ghosts. Hallways were lined with decorations and carvings, but they weren't quite level, and the images seemed to have been shifted a little from the serene and majestic to the off-putting and macabre. Rounding a bend at the top of a shaky staircase, he almost came nose-to-nose with a statue that might have been beautiful if it hadn't been carved or changed or whatever to something that assumed all humanoid figures looked better with insectoid features.

"Whoa! Forget Martha Stewart in here. This is more like 'Mantis' Stewart!" he exclaimed.

"The PKE hasn't changed yet," Egon added calmly from his place in the slow procession making their way through the ruin. "Still strongly ambient, but nothing concentrated. And don't knock anything over, Pete. No need to antagonize anybody. Including me."

Virgil had taken the lead, with Peter and Egon behind him, Norman and Max next, and Ray and Winston at the rear, but as they wound up a narrow staircase and Virgil headed down a main passageway, the Cap-Bearer found himself veering off to one side.

"What is it?" the Guardian asked softly, the others stopping to look at them.

"I don't really know," he shrugged. "But it seems like this is the way to go."

Peter and Egon exchanged glances. The boy's face was a little blank, as though he were dizzy or tired, but neither seemed right; maybe it was the altitude and the cold. They knew Max had never been here before, so how he might know his way around was more than a mystery. But then, the Ghostbusters had no cause to know any better what direction would lead them to their answer, and as Peter snuck a peek at Virgil, he'd have bet the Lemurian didn't know, either. There seemed no harm in following Max; he was at least as likely to find the way as any of them, and he had all that mystical stuff going for him, too.

But as they turned to follow the boy, something in the set of his young shoulders twigged in the back of Peter's mind. Norman and Virgil didn't appear to notice anything, but there was something, something not right. With as much subtlety as he could manage, and when he needed to Peter could be tremendously subtle, he nudged Egon and borrowed the PKE meter for a moment. The readings seemed to be unchanged, but he could see a thick sort of haze in the energies of the area slowly gathering around Max. He handed it back with a significant look, and Egon, so often so dense about certain matters, understood its meaning: "Keep an eye on it, but don't say anything yet."

Peter looked back to Winston and Ray, who were now also somewhat more alert. Of course, all the Ghostbusters were on alert while climbing through ancient-beyond-ancient structures that might or might not contain unfriendly entities, but they seemed to sense his growing unease, not to mention the fact that he practically never voluntarily used the PKE meter without some comment usually geared to downplay his comprehension (because the more he professed mastery of the science, the more of it he'd have to do, after all). Almost instinctively, so smoothly it might have been purely by accident, Winston picked up his pace a bit until he was closer to Max, walking right behind and to the left of him, just a hair closer than the Guardian. Winston didn't have the PKE to check, but he had that gut feeling going, and if nothing else he had learned to trust that when his gut said to watch out he did well to obey it.

Max came to a sudden halt, then dropped to the ground so abruptly it was as though he'd been hit in the stomach. Four Ghostbusters readied their weapons and the Viking drew his sword before any of them realized that he wasn't in pain or danger; rather, Max had begun brushing at the layers of dirt and dust on the floor.

"There's something here. Something underneath here," he said, a little dazedly. Beside him, Winston bent to look.

Max was right. The carvings in the floor seemed to swirl back and forth dizzily and seamlessly, but as the dust moved the Ghostbuster could see slight cracks, and not random ones from shifting and age. He lent a hand of his own and within moments the cleared space, bordered by lines Max seemed to sense as much as see, had emerged.

"Norman, if you would, please?" Virgil asked.

Norman stepped forward and raised a foot high. "Ha!" He smashed it down onto the ancient floor and through, revealing a passageway. A few more blows and there was an opening big enough to drop through.

"Down here," the Cap-Bearer said softly, and now his voice had a twinge in it that drew everyone's attention. His face was pale and his eyes wide, the pupils oddly small.

"Mighty One, are you all right?" Virgil asked.

The boy nodded sort of absently and bent to drop into the hole he had identified, but Ray grabbed his shoulders and held on. "Wait a sec, kid. Let's send somebody down there with light first."

"You mean me, don't you?" Peter asked, looking at the expressions turned his way. But before he could even begin to sigh dramatically there was a loud crunching noise. Turning, he was just in time to see Winston handing one of the flashlights down to an enormous hand sticking up through the hole.

"Actually, I meant him," Ray smiled at Norman. He maintained his hold on Max, however. "We'll have your friend check it out, and then you can go down, okay?"

The lack of response seemed to worry Virgil more than anything else yet had, and he moved to stand right in front of the boy. Peering up, his eyes widened.

"What is it?" Peter asked.

"Something here is influencing the Cap-Bearer."

"Influencing?" and Norman's normally-gruff voice had a note of hardness in it from below.

"He's not possessed," Egon added quickly, checking the PKE meter. "It would show up on our readings. But the energy in this place does seem to cling to him more than the rest of us."

"But what does it mean?" Ray wanted to know.

"I don't really know," the Lemurian confessed, and everyone could plainly see how much it cost him to admit that.

"Should we get out of here?" Norman wanted to know.

"No," Max's voice surprised them. He shook his head slightly, his eyes becoming a bit more normal. "No, I…I can handle it. There's something down there, something we need to see. But…" he breathed in sharply, "if something happens…"

"We got your back, kid," Winston put in warmly. But behind the confident and encouraging face he put on, his friends could see the ice of his determination.

That decided, it was the work of a few minutes for everyone else to make their way through the hole to the chambers below. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the area uncovered by Max was even more powerfully smelly and eerie, the changes to the décor and the pervading sense of wrongness stronger than ever, and as the strangeness increased, so did Max's distraction and distance from himself. As if sleepwalking, he began leading the way down a staircase so long and steep it must have gone past the buried portion of the temple and into the mountain itself, and then through a seeming labyrinth of corridors and interconnected rooms without a moment of hesitation. At last, however, he reached a broad entrance at which he paused, the magnificent doors slightly ajar and hanging loose on their hinges, which, given that they were easily 20 feet tall, was more than a little intimidating.

"In there?" Ray asked, his eyes big as he looked up and up.

"In there," Virgil confirmed, looking across at Mighty Max. Now more than ever, the impact of the place on him was clear. He was glassy-eyed and his breathing was on the ragged side. In spite of the cold in the air, beads of sweat stood out on his face. And, perhaps oddly enough, the Cap seemed to be emitting some sort of haze of its own, not light, not exactly, but a shadowy sort of pulse that was as much felt as seen.

"Peter," Egon said softly, "the readings in there are almost off the scale. Normally we'd be looking at something tearing up downtown to have readings this strong."

"Better be ready for a quick getaway, then," Winston said, pulling the proton accelerator and holding it in a tense grip.

"Any ideas?" Ray looked over to Virgil and Norman. The pair exchanged glances.

"We must investigate," Virgil answered after a moment, "but if anything happens to the Cap-Bearer, or if another demon appears, we must escape." He paused and pulled out a scroll. Scanning it quickly, he looked up. "I had thought this area would have been blocked by the mountain, but it appears there are a few portals that lead to and from these underground tunnels. If we must flee, head back down this corridor and turn left after about 30 yards. The portal should be there somewhere."

"Well, that's convenient," Peter remarked.

"I don't like it," Norman glowered.

"How come, big guy?"

"'Cause every time there's a good exit, we always need it," he said grimly, looking down at the boy. He drew his sword and looked about a moment away from simply carrying Max under an arm when the Cap-Bearer suddenly moved jerkily forward, passing between the doors into the dark space beyond without warning.

"Come on!" Egon called out, and everyone lurched into motion to catch up.

As they squeezed through the doorway, light burst from seemingly everywhere. The very walls began to crawl with illuminated writing, but unlike any the Ghostbusters had ever seen before. With only a moment for their eyes to adjust, they found themselves in a large chamber, partially collapsed, that was, top to bottom, sparkling in some sort of energy that flowed into images and words across even the floor and ceiling and the broken earth that had caved in at the other end of the room.

And in the middle of the space that remained was a large, empty pedestal.

"Mighty One?" Norman called, lowering the arm he'd thrown up against the brightness.

"N…Normie?"

His voice was so small and uncertain the others instinctively began moving towards it even as their eyes continued to adjust. At the base of the dais, to one side, Max was on all fours, gasping as though he were choking. He shook like the proverbial leaf in a windstorm.

And before him was the unmistakable remains of an ancient human body that had been ripped to shreds.

"Max, are you okay?" Winston demanded.

"I…No," he managed. Then, his whole body twisted as though he were suffering from a piercing sound or intense pain, and he gripped the Cap on his head like a lifeline.

"Mighty One!" Virgil put a hand out to touch him, but stopped just short.

The Cap had started to glow, not the familiar brightness when it opened a portal, but the much rarer light of the Mighty One's inborn power. Virgil and Norman had only seen it a few times, times the boy was tapping not into the Cosmic Cap's abilities, but into his own.

The glow surrounding the Cap became more wild, encompassing the Cap-Bearer, then the pedestal and its ruined companion, then the others. It was like standing outside in the most powerful electric storm ever, maybe like being in the path of the proton accelerators. And still the power radiated outward until Max himself was a mere slip of a shadow lost in its center.

And just as quickly as it had begun, it died away and the room plunged into darkness.

"Mighty One?" Norman was the first to recover.

"I'm…I'm okay," came a steadier voice than they'd heard. Peter got his flashlight going after a shaky first attempt and shone it over the boy. He looked like he'd run a marathon with mono, but he seemed otherwise all right. Better, in fact, than he'd been minutes before. His eyes, at least, were no longer unfocused.

"What happened?" Egon wanted to know. He found himself looking to Virgil for answers. But the Lemurian looked very troubled.

"I really don't know. I think perhaps the Mighty One may have stopped something before it truly began."

"Well, I vote we get out of here!" Ray put in. Winston was about to turn on him to make some sort of disparaging remark about cowardice in the face of discovery, but he pointed to Max who was nodding.

"Yeah. Can we go? Please?"

Norman flinched as if struck and, without waiting for another word, stepped forward. He put a hand on the Cap-Bearer's shoulder and as much pulled as helped him to his feet, immediately steering him out of the room. Right before they left the other five standing around staring, he turned back.

"Discretion. Valor. You know the rest."

-==OOO==-

An hour and a half later, four Ghostbusters, one Viking, a Lemurian and a kid sat in a loose circle back in the firehouse living room. Max had been largely quiet for the entire trip back, which had, unfortunately, included something of a strenuous instance navigating their way across a busy highway in LA and a short hike through the Gobi Desert. Walking where he was bid, opening portals without comment, the strain he was trying and failing to dispel was obvious.

Now, curled up in one of the faded, patched armchairs, he leaned into the mug of hot chocolate Ray had brewed, face pensive. Still, that was an improvement over the lost and hazy look from the temple.

"So…what happened in there?" Winston finally broke the tense quiet.

"Mighty One?" Virgil asked, rather gently, when the boy didn't respond.

The Cap-Bearer took a long breath.

"You don't have to tell us if you don't want to," Egon said kindly.

"But you might feel better if you do," Peter put in.

"Peter…" Ray sent a look over to his friend warningly. "If he doesn't want to talk about it…"

"No, he's right," Max said at once. "I should tell you. I kind of think I'm supposed to."

But as he settled himself and sat up a little straighter, something in the brittleness of his eyes suddenly reminded every person (and fowl) in the room how young he really was. There was an echo of weariness in him, the kind expected in an old man who had seen the worst and best of the world for decades; not a look that belonged in the boy's face.

"At first it wasn't anything I could really explain," the Cap-Bearer began, "but the farther in we went, the more I sort of felt like I was falling asleep. Like I was lifting up out of myself and more watching from someplace else than really being there. I don't know how I knew where I was going. I'm not sure I'm the one that knew. You said I wasn't possessed," and he looked up at the Ghostbusters, "and it didn't feel like the one time somebody actually got into my mind. But I just wasn't alone in there, I guess."

"When we got down in that room, though," he spoke a little more evenly, perhaps more from the need for control than actual relief, "it changed. I didn't see it the way it looked to you. I saw it from before, all lit up with torches and glowing crystals. I saw the jar sitting there," and here he suppressed a shudder. "And there were people there. Guarding it, I guess.

"And then there was this flash of darkness and suddenly the people were gone. Well, one was gone. The other…" and here he trailed off completely. But the implication was clear. They'd all seen the mutilated remains – evidently Max had seen things a little fresher.

"Anyway," he shook himself. "The jar was open. I could see it. I could feel what was inside it. It was like it was reaching for me. And it felt…I don't think there's a feeling in the world like it. Not good," he tried to huff a smile. "And I started to fight it. And the next thing I knew, the vision or whatever was over and I felt like I'd been run over by a truck the size of the Empire State Building."

He took a sip of his still-warm drink, then looked up properly. "What does it mean, Virg?"

"Well, ahem, I'm not quite sure yet, Mighty One."

"Best guess, Virgil," Norman said, and there was an undercurrent of warning in his voice.

"W-well, I suppose I would be willing to speculate that the Mighty One's inborn destiny and connection to this particular series of events triggered something of a time-regression such that he was witness to some of the events that occurred when the jar was originally opened. Obviously the ambient energies and residual influences are still strong in that place, and they tapped into the source of power that is the Mighty One to recreate the traumatic events recorded in the very stones."

"As in, Max got turned into a battery by the leftovers from the jar opening the first time and it replayed what happened for him to see?" Winston clarified.

"Precisely."

Abruptly, Max stood up, setting his mug on the table and moved towards the door. When five men and one fowl began to reach after him, he waved them away with some vague comment about "getting some air." Norman started to follow him, but Peter actually found himself putting a hand on the Guardian's massive arm.

"I'll talk to him. He'll be fine."

Norman grunted in response, but a nod from Virgil was enough to make him stand down and let the smaller man pass. Whatever was troubling the boy, Max would talk to him about it eventually; he always did. For now, if this ally believed he could help, well, Norman was willing to permit it. Unless Dr Venkman hurt him. Then he would squash him flat.

That warning was all over his face, so it was a slightly more nervous Peter that found himself following Max to the rooftop where he sat, feet dangling over the edge, staring at the skyline.

"Hey," he said sitting down.

Several moments of silence passed before Peter tried again.

"You know, you really should think about getting paid for all this. You certainly put in the hours."

"I don't think Virgil's exactly loaded, and there isn't really any way of billing, well, everybody when you save the world from giant palm-tree-eating slugs or whatever it is," Max gave a half-hearted laugh.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You don't have to talk to me," the boy said suddenly, turning to Peter. "I know you're a psychologist. I don't need a therapist to deal with this. Really."

"I know that," and he smiled sincerely. "But maybe a friend?" Peter looked steadily into the boy's face, trying to project patience and lack of judgment. After a few beats, the Cap-Bearer huffed and turned back to the skyline.

"It…it's not what you think," Max began slowly. "I'm not afraid of the demons or Pandora or any of it."

"I can tell," Peter shifted around so he was slightly closer to Max's height. "So what's throwing you off your game?"

"There was a time, not even that long ago, that all I wanted was to be a normal kid. Not the Mighty One. You know? I did my job, I saved the world, but I hated it. I'd have given anything to hand the Cap off to somebody else and call it quits." He pulled the Cap from his head and held it before him, staring intensely at it.

"What happened?" Peter asked gently. He wasn't sure where the kid was going with it, but if he felt the need to say it, it didn't take a degree in psychology to know it was important.

"A bunch of things. Norman and Virgil died. Skullmaster took over the universe." At Peter's startled expression, Max smiled a little. "I fixed it. I almost got myself killed, but I fixed it. Long story."

"O…kay," the Ghostbuster drew out the word encouragingly, and a little wonderingly.

"And then it started to make sense. I'm the Mighty One. It's not something I can give away. It's not something I can avoid or put on hold. It's gotta come first. Probably for the rest of my life. And I still kinda hated it sometimes, but sometimes it was okay. And I sorta learned that by not wanting to be the Mighty One I was making it harder on myself. There's a reason I'm the one that got picked for this. And when I figured that out, I decided that I did want to be the Mighty One. That I'd choose it if I could, that I wouldn't give it away after all."

"Sounds like you came to terms with it," Peter put in quietly.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"But something's bothering you now." It wasn't a question. Peter began doing what he did best. "Going by your reactions today, I wouldn't say you're calling into question whether or not you still want all this," and he gestured at the Cap. "You didn't shy away from your responsibilities today, not even a little. So that isn't it."

"No, it's not," Max confirmed. He was watching Peter, and the Ghostbuster recognized all at once that Max didn't really understand his feelings himself and was now wondering if maybe someone else could explain them to him. Peter could handle that.

"But choosing to accept your destiny was a major step for you, one you're proud of, one you are really comfortable with. If you're not questioning yourself, maybe then it's a different kind of choice you're worried about. Well, that and residual fear from all the stuff we saw today." Peter catalogued the expressions flicking across Max's face, latching onto some of them as he narrowed in on the problem.

"Yeah, some of that was just…sick." The boy suppressed a shudder at both the memory of the battlefield and the freshly torn and mangled human body that had met him inside Mount Ararat.

"You've seen danger before, but not that kind of violence," Peter said matter-of-factly. "And even you can be unnerved by it. You know it's okay to be bothered by that, right?" Max's wordless nod confirmed that at least some of his conflicting emotions were rooted in what he'd witnessed, and no wonder. But that wasn't the whole answer, and they both knew it.

"That wasn't what threw you so badly you're still thrown though," he continued. "It's something else." In a flash of inspiration, "There's something else you're afraid of."

"When we went into the temple," Max began slowly, as though the words were being pulled out of him one at a time, "when that fog was sort of drifting into my mind, it wasn't scary or painful. But it took away my ability to choose. I wasn't deciding what to do anymore – I was just going because that's what it wanted or something. I wasn't choosing for myself, and I didn't know why. And at the time, it didn't even bother me that I wasn't in control anymore."

"But it bothers you now," Peter said solidly. "Because choice matters to you. Something in the temple today disempowered you, not the Cap, and took away the part of you that you believe makes you who you are."

"Yes." And Max's young face twisted with raw feeling. "Virgil's told me that destiny is one part fate, one part chance, and one part free will. The fate stuff I can't change or help much. The chance stuff tends to work better for me just in general, but I can't do much about that either. But the free will part, that's my job. That's the only reason I've saved the world so many times. It's the only thing that gives me any shot at getting out of the trouble we get into without losing somebody. And today I couldn't fight it. I didn't even want to. I don't think it even occurred to me to try until the end there."

"With that much energy blasting at you, I don't think you should blame yourself…"

"Yes I should!" Max interrupted. "I'm the Mighty One. It's my job to fight that sort of thing. What if I had been completely overtaken and had led everybody into a trap, or worse? I should have been able to fight it, to protect myself from it."

"But you didn't have to," Peter said gently. "We were there. We had your back. We wouldn't have let anything happen to you."

"I was there to keep it from happening to you and the rest of the world." There was bitterness in the boy's young voice. "Anything could have happened to you all and I was asleep on watch."

"But it didn't," Peter pointed out. "Besides, we made the choice to follow you. If you'd led us into a trap, that wouldn't have been your fault. It would have been ours for following you."

"But…" Max spluttered.

"No 'buts,' kid," Peter's tone was firm and he looked Max straight in the eyes. "Look, it's okay that you were scared when you lost control. That's normal. Healthy even. And yes, it's important for you to maintain the ability to choose. That's what you do. But you can't blame yourself for what we chose to do. If you have the right to pick your own path, then so do we. I'm not talking about Virgil and Norman, 'cause I know that's complicated," he raised a hand to the objections he could see growing in the boy's face, "but for me and the guys? Nobody tells us what to do except maybe Janine, and then just because we like her. So don't take that on your shoulders, buddy. You've got enough to carry."


	8. Regrouping

Sorry for the delay. May got away from me.

Same disclaimer as always, with even less creativity this time. Oh well.

Funny note about this chapter – there's a scene in it that I wrote half an eternity ago, way before I'd ever gotten this far chronologically. Sometimes a particular moment or even phrase will just STICK in my brain until I write it down. This chapter is largely the result of that one. I hope it carries what I intended!

Enjoy!

* * *

"Poor kid," Ray said sympathetically.

"See! I told you it was a rough deal!" Winston wagged a finger at Ray.

"Not anymore," Egon pointed out, shifting his glasses. "He told Pete he'd overcome the inevitability and embraced his destiny as his chosen path. That shows remarkable strength and conviction."

"But getting there was probably no fun," Ray added. "So we're both right. Satisfied?"

"Nope," Winston returned.

The four Ghostbusters were having what they had come to call their "nightcap," a means of debriefing. It was a tradition they'd begun in the earliest days of the Ghostbusters when, upon returning to the firehouse after a call, usually Ray was wound up and wouldn't sleep (or let anybody else sleep) until he'd gotten it out of his system. Eventually, it had worked its way to a standard practice.

At the end of a day, or after a late-night call, the four of them would get ready for bed as usual, complete with sleepwear and the series of ridiculous hats Peter and Egon insisted on wearing – the latter from habit and the former to tease Egon – but before sleep they would sit in the dormitory and talk. Just talk. Even if it was only for a few moments, being able to process and work through some of the events of their jobs helped them all to rest easier. Everyone had a well-founded suspicion that the reason it had become common practice even after Ray learned to go to bed like a normal grown-up had to do with Peter's sneaky way of keeping tabs on them.

"So what can we do?" Ray looked to Peter.

"Well, we finished up and he seemed okay, so I guess we just keep an eye on him. Whatever happens next, it's probably going to focus on him. Destiny and all that," Peter shrugged. He felt a little guilty for sharing parts of his private rooftop conversation with the others, but on the other hand, Max probably needed every ally he could get right now. And it wasn't like the kid had sworn him to secrecy or made him sign a waiver or anything.

"Egon, do you think Pandora will try to use the Mighty One somehow?" Winston asked.

"Almost certainly. But for what I don't yet know. Virgil and Norman are also concerned, but without more information we have little choice but to wait for them or the demons to make the next move." Egon considered for a moment before adding, "I have a feeling that boy will be the key to this one. Which is nice for us, anyway. Good change of pace. Maybe I'll get some real work done for once."

"He can handle it," Winston said quietly, ignoring Egon's quip, "but we'll be there to back him up if we have to."

"Right," Ray nodded. "So what's the plan?"

"Besides waiting?" Peter shrugged again. He had a few ideas of his own, but he would see how they panned out. The guys had enough information to work with. This was the part where he kicked back and let them take the lead for a while.

"Tomorrow I'm going to reach out to some of my resources to see if anybody's heard of other recent hotspots for demonic activity. I'll also cross-reference the name 'Pandora' with any phenomena in the immediate area in case there's a connection," Egon checked off items on his fingers, "And I'm also going to see if I can't learn a bit more about the portals. Not only are they a unique metaphysical construct, but there's no telling what I could learn about energy from them."

"I think I'll join you for the portals part," Ray said thoughtfully. "Who knows what we could do if we could replicate that energy in our containment unit or something?"

"Sounds good," Peter said sleepily. "You know where to find me when you stop being boring, right?"

"Yeah, on your butt somewhere being lazy," Winston smiled. "As usual."

"Hey, I did my thing already," he protested even as he crawled under the covers and pulled a pillow up to block out the others. "Now I'm getting my well-earned shut-eye."

"It was a pretty long day," Ray conceded. "Not often we go mountain climbing and demon hunting in one day."

"If we're gonna be doing more mountain climbing, I'm so hitting the gym tomorrow," Winston grumbled, stretching his shoulders before turning from the conversation to his own bed. Things were winding down, and his muscles were more than ready for a rest.

"Egon, do you think if you adjust the parameters of the PKE meter when you're working with Max's portals you might be able to capture a higher spectrum of energy so we can better measure…"

"Bed, Ray." Peter's muffled voice was audible, and though he intended to sound cranky, those in the room could hear the wry smile behind it.

"Oh, right." Ray blinked and looked sheepishly at Egon who was hugely yawning. "Sorry. Guess we can do that tomorrow, huh?"

"Yup," Winston answered groggily.

"Good night, Ray," Egon smiled, removing his glasses and settling in.

"But Egon…"

"Good night."

Sighing half with frustration and half with familiar humor, Ray relented and got up to turn the lights off. Slimer wandered in through the ceiling to wish them all goodnight, earning himself a trio of "Good night, Slimer, now go away" for his trouble. Ray and the little ghost exchanged looks and Ray shrugged. He'd never understand how the others could sleep so easily when there was interesting data to discuss! But his shoulders still hurt from the climb, so maybe a little sleep wasn't such a terrible idea.

"Good night, Peter. Good night, Winston. Good night, Egon. Good night, Slimer!" he said cheerfully as he got into his own bed. Slimer mumbled something before settling at the foot of his bed like a cat. But with the others, he was met with only snores.

-==OOO==-

"Virgil, where are we going?" Max asked, trailing after the fowl.

"I told you, we have things we must accomplish at once," came Virgil's voice from ahead. For a pint-sized Lemurian eons old, he sure could set a brisk pace! Max stumbled trying to keep up. "Now, this portal will take us where we need to go."

Max obediently stepped to the space Virgil indicated with a feathered hand and watched as the portal opened. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't quite identify it. Something was off somehow.

"Virg?"

"Later, Mighty One."

The trip through the portal was uneventful, spitting Max out onto a barren landscape. Familiar somehow. The sun was bright, and the rocks underfoot were uncomfortably warm even through his sneakers. Where…?

Then it hit him.

"Virgil! What are we doing here?"

Max spun to demand answers, but Virgil was nowhere to be seen. With a feeling of dread, he turned back just in time to shield his eyes from flying dirt and sand and rock in the aftermath of a bone-shaking explosion. The guns sounded again and the battlefield they'd so narrowly escaped that very day seemed to burst into new life. Max knew he should be hiding. He knew he should take cover. He should be looking for Virgil. But he couldn't. He was rooted to the spot.

Guns blazed around him. Before his very eyes, a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Ray charged into a clearing only for bullets to tear into him, dropping him with a scream to the ground. Moments later, someone with Egon's chin stepped from behind concealment, walked up to the wounded man and emptied a gun noisily into the helpless form before him.

"No! Stop it!" Max bellowed.

A sound behind him caused Max to whirl in alarm, though he almost wished he hadn't. Norman stood there, a wicked looking firearm in each hand. Without so much as a blink of hesitation he aimed both and began firing, narrowly missing Max himself. In shock and horror Max watched his friend mow down people who weren't even fighting, people who were hiding or hurt, people who exploded in gory relief against the empty landscape. A new scream drew his eyes to one side and he nearly dropped at the sight.

Winston, or someone like him, was hurt. Not just hurt. Something had torn him apart. The man was screaming even as his arm was wrenched from his body with an audible SNAP. Max couldn't tell what was doing it, but he couldn't miss the severed limbs being piled on Winston's torso like kindling. And still he screamed, even when what had been his own arms and legs burst into flame and burned the color of blood.

"Hey!"

Heartsick, Max turned without knowing he was doing it. Peter stood there, fully equipped in his Ghostbuster gear. His face looked as open and friendly as it had that very night on the rooftop, which made everything worse. Max could smell the burnt flesh behind him, could feel the hair on his arms standing up as Peter charged the proton accelerator, and he couldn't move.

"Nothing personal, kid."

And he opened fire.

"No!"

Max sat up in terror, his heart racing, his whole body sweating and shaking. He took an unsteady breath, then another, and ran a trembling hand over his face. His palm came away wet with tears.

"Just a dream, Max. Just a dream," he tried to soothe himself. He clenched his fists and squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images to fade. "Come on, get ahold of yourself. Just a dream."

But a few more breaths and he couldn't help but accept that calm was not in the cards. He pulled his knees up and curled into them, wrapping his still-shaking arms around himself. He could stop the tears after a few moments, but his body refused to quiet, his heart refused to slow. He shook, his stomach twisting in knots. He couldn't seem to wipe away the dream, what it had shown him. If anything, being awake made it worse. Now he saw everything in greater definition. His imagination carried the dream further, and he couldn't seem to stop picturing ever-worse possibilities, ever more awful ends. Norman gunning down Egon. Peter blasting Virgil. Innocent people torn apart like Winston…

Max didn't even realize the low moaning sound was coming from him until he wondered who else could be feeling so horrified in the dead of night.

A sudden weight on his bent back caused him to look up in alarm, his whole body twitching instinctively away from the unexpected contact. It took a moment in the dimness, along with the even-more-furious pounding in his temples, for him to recognize the form of Norman standing next to the couch. The Guardian's hand was warm and steady on the place between Max's shoulder-blades, and he simply waited. Max tried for exactly one moment to try to act cool and unaffected before his composure collapsed. He bent his head back down on his folded arms, curling even more tightly into a ball, and let the shaking carry him until he felt his bones would burst through his skin trying to escape.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered. "It was just a bad dream, but I can't seem to forget it."

There was a very soft sound and the hand on his back shifted until Max sensed that Norman had kneeled beside him, bringing them closer to eye-level. He didn't move any closer, but he also didn't remove the comforting hand. Max pulled himself together enough to look up. The Guardian's normally stoic face was slightly gentled, making him look oddly younger in the faint light.

If Norman had turned that bracing, I'm-a-tough-warrior-and-so-are-you look on him, he would have found the will to fight the panic, but the open sympathy he found instead was his undoing. The tears he'd just barely stopped came again as the dream replayed itself again in ever-increasingly disturbing ways. All his pride and cocksure maturity melted and Max dropped his head on Norman's great shoulder and clung to him while the torrent took its toll. Minutes or moments or hours passed unheeded as the Mighty One, the Cap-Bearer, chosen one of destiny, broke down and wept.

When he was at last able to fight back the storm, Max realized that the Guardian had curled an enormous arm around him, supporting his trembling form. He pushed back, feeling sudden shame fill the place where the worst fear had been. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Don't be." Norman's voice was as gentle as Max had ever heard it. "There's no demon in any world worse than the ones in our own minds. I should know."

Max didn't have anything to say to that, so he just nodded. He was still cold with fear, but he made to curl back under the blankets anyway, feeling he'd been foolish enough for one night. Norman still didn't move, either to help him or prevent him, but his eyes were turned on Max with such intensity the boy wondered exactly how much his Guardian could see of what he wasn't saying.

"Thanks." Max managed when he was mostly comfortable again.

Rather than replying, Norman snorted once, then reached to the chair where another spare blanket sat folded. He wadded it up a bit and set it on the floor next to the couch, then stretched himself out, next to Max, poking at his blanket-pillow until it was apparently comfortable. Then, as almost an afterthought, he took his sword, which had been leaned nearby, and put it on the floor between himself and the couch.

"Normie?"

The Guardian reached up and caught Max's right wrist. He guided the boy until his palm rested on the hilt of the sword.

"I'm here," he said softly, releasing Max's wrist. "No matter what threatens you. Even in your dreams, I've got your back, Mighty Max." He spoke the epithet reverently, but the emphasis was on the name and not the title. Max heard what Norman didn't quite say, that he was protecting not just the office of the Cap-Bearer, but Max himself, the person who was his friend, the person who was afraid.

"Thanks, big guy," he whispered, managing a shaky smile. He fidgeted a bit more with his own blankets and pillow, mostly to cover his embarrassment and lingering fear, then settled down with his face turned towards Norman. For all intents and purposes, it looked like the Viking was already deeply asleep, yet there were certain tells Max knew well that proved his Guardian was, if he was sleeping at all, was resting very, very lightly. The slightest sound would bring him to full wakefulness instantly.

Knowing he was so well guarded, knowing that Norman intended to protect him from even nightmares, knowing he was not facing the dark alone, it all helped uncoil the cold knot in his stomach. Max closed his eyes, breathing out a slow sigh. The images didn't follow him this time; instead, he felt unaccountably safe. It didn't matter that the world was in danger again, that they might be facing a battle they couldn't win. Because Max wasn't going to face even one moment of it alone.

With Norman at his side, even his worst nightmares didn't stand a chance.

-==OOO==-

Norman feigned the light sleep until the rhythmic breathing of his charge had slowed and deepened, until he was certain the boy was completely unaware. Then he shifted, sitting back up and leaning against the couch. From here he would be able to hear even the slightest change in the boy's breathing or even his heart-rate and could intervene before any similar dreams took hold.

Eyes closed, Norman allowed himself a moment of rage again. For all that this boy was a hero, maybe THE hero of the world, he was still a boy – an innocent, untainted boy whose hands were still bloodless in spite of his many adventures. His was the kind of heart Norman had sworn to protect eons ago, sworn to guard from knowing the horrors that had spurned exactly this sort of nightmare. In spite of his proud warrior attitude, the Guardian would never, ever look down on his charge for having real, genuine fears – in fact, he would be far more concerned if the boy hadn't been frightened. That he was so affected was proof that Max's heart was still pure and unhardened, even now.

Norman wished there were something more he could do to reassure him, but this was the sort of battle he had to fight, and win, on his own. Even a Guardian could not reconcile innocence with such memories. If he could have, Norman would have marched into the boy's dreams and beaten back his demons by hand. Barring that, he could be the solid presence and comfort of a friend, and of a man who had seen it all, and worse yet, and endured. He could not keep Max's mind from conjuring images that would sicken warriors many years his senior, but he could wake him and remind him that he was, always and forever, safe. That his Guardian was at his side for all his battles, even his inner ones, and would never let him suffer alone.

Accordingly, then, Norman settled himself comfortably, but not too comfortably. He intended to remain awake all night, to shake the boy from any troubling dreams before they overcame him, to remind him as often as needed that he was safe and protected. It was a very, very small sacrifice to make, and one that was the Guardian's sworn duty, after all. Even if Virgil had never asked Norman to promise to care for the boy's heart as well as his welfare, it was not in the Viking to do less. He might be the Mighty One, the legendary Cap-Bearer, but he was Norman's friend, his charge, his boy. And Norman would serve him according to his conscience and honor and if anyone had something to say on it, they could leave. It was his prerogative as Guardian to protect his charge's sleep. And he would see it through.

Max shifted and shivered many times throughout the night, but with his Guardian to look after him, he suffered no more nightmares after that.

-==OOO==-

Elsewhere, a soft popping sound broke a dark silence. A one-armed creature slid from the shadows as if out of water and approached where a regal-looking figure regarded it. Other forms moved or slithered nearby, but none stepped out of their own darknesses.

"Did you find him again?" she asked in a voice that was both edged and deep.

"Yes. He is still at last. With those who throw fire," it responded in its own high-pitched, raspy voice. It had knelt at her feet, close enough to touch her with its leathery wings, but it never raised its head.

"Yes, yes, the Ghostbusters. I know," she said dismissively. Standing, she strode through the swirling dark mist, considering. She must have been beautiful once, her features high and well-defined, her brow and jaw square and majestic. But her skin was a strange grey color with veins of black evident, and her face had a rather sinister wideness of mouth more common to sharks than anything else. From the tips of her blue-black hair hung tiny horns like teeth on a necklace that rattled with a bony sound as she moved.

"Should I take him from them?" the demon asked, still kneeling, head bowed.

"No, he will come to me soon enough. His are a foolish people, so assured of their own dominance. He is guided by a Lemurian, and they are only good for remembering the facts as they were told them. As likely as not they labor under the assumption that I seek to open the jar for my own nefarious purposes." At that she laughed, but there was no joy in the dry sound.

"But, isn't that why we seek the jar, Mistress Pandora?"

Without warning, she lashed out, striking the demon's head with the back of a hand that made a sound like steel on stone when it hit. The demon tipped dangerously but quickly righted itself and said nothing more.

"You are as foolish as they. Of course not." Her face twisted haughtily. "I don't need competition from those who remain locked within. What care I for them? No, no, the jar will bring me something far sweeter."

The demon said nothing, holding still, and its silence seemed to be the course of action she wanted, for she deigned to smile at it slightly before continuing.

"I will have to open the jar, of course, and for that I shall require the Chosen One. To release all those demons? Never. But their strength, their powers, those I will take from them gladly. And when I have my fill, I shall cast the so-called Mighty One into the dark prison and be done with them both for all time."


	9. The Path in the Dark

Thanks for this chapter go to Wikipedia and other internet sources. So much stuff I didn't know about caves before. And side effects from...well, what the guys encounter.

Enjoy!

* * *

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" Max asked, sitting at the breakfast table with four Ghostbusters, his Guardian, and a Lemurian, and thinking the whole scenario sounded like the opening of a really obscure joke.

"I have much pondered that very question, Mighty One," Virgil answered, looking disdainfully at the Frosted Sugar Wheat-Corn Puffs set before him. He poked at the bowl once or twice with a spoon, watched the milk dissolve the basic structure of the cereal, and pushed it away with a sigh. "I believe, as I said yesterday, that our only hope lies in finding the jar before Pandora does. We must secure it somehow, or hide it from her, before she can open it."

"Yeah, but how do we do that?" Ray wanted to know. "I mean, we didn't exactly take the extended tour of the place yesterday, but I think we'd have noticed a huge jar radiating pure evil."

"What about a small one? Really, really tiny?" Peter put in impishly. At several sets of rolled eyes, he shrugged. "What? It could happen!"

"Well, if the jar is not at Mount Ararat, it must have been moved in the intervening centuries before the temple was destroyed in seismic activity," Egon speculated, ignoring Pete entirely.

"You're saying it got moved. Great. So who moved it? And where?" Winston shook his head. "That's like saying that somebody moved the Ten Commandments, and we don't know where to find those, either."

"True as your analogy is, I believe we can combine our knowledge and the science of probability to calculate a series of possible locations," Virgil shared a look with Egon, "which should make it less unlikely for us to succeed."

"Okay. You guys go do the brainy thing, then, and call us when you've got something," Peter said, taking on the air of a man who by all rights was entirely behind the plan and its execution and was simply giving the honor of the hard work to the others, "and we'll stay out of your way. How's that?"

"I'm sure we'd appreciate the quiet," Egon said wryly.

"Virgil, what about me?" Max asked. "Isn't there something I can do?"

"Not yet, Mighty One. When we have compiled a list of possibilities, we will be in great need of your services, though, to guide us to each location and check it thoroughly."

"Great," Max rolled his eyes at the Lemurian good-naturedly, "'cause if there's something I like less than doing nothing, it's providing a taxi service."

-==OOO==-

Three days later and more than 50 different places across the globe searched and crossed off the list, even the Cap-Bearer's usually even temper began to fray. Egon and Winston had been the two Ghostbusters accompanying Max, Virgil, and Norman on their search while Ray and Peter stayed behind "to mind the store" (which had been valuable when a call came in and 50% of the team had been in Nepal). Together, the five of them had crisscrossed every corner of the world, every possible location for the jar.

"That's it!" Max exploded as he stomped back into the firehouse and tossed the soggy waders he'd been carrying to the ground in a fit of pique. "I've had it! We're never gonna find it! This is a huge waste of time!"

"Peace, Mighty One," Norman said. "You know Virgil is doing his best."

"Actually," Virgil accepted a rag from a not-quite-grinning Ray and began meticulously cleaning his feet of some rather pungent Irish mud, "I am beginning to think along similar lines myself."

"That this is all a wild goose chase? Wild chicken chase?" Winston eyed Virgil.

"Fowl, actually."

"If you've been looking for three days, hasn't Pandora probably made her move by now? I mean, if we can't find it, but we think she can, what's stopping her?" Peter pointed out.

"It is entirely possible that finding the jar is not enough. There might be some means of opening it that is still beyond her," Egon said thoughtfully. "But the longer it takes us to catch up, the greater the likelihood that she will take action before we are ready."

"So where does that leave us?" Ray asked.

For a moment there was a very long silence. Then, finally, Max spoke.

"We've got to go back to Mount Ararat."

Everyone stopped what they'd been doing and looked over at the Cap-Bearer uncertainly. It was a suggestion no one had wanted to voice. There seemed to have been a collective agreement not to encourage further investigation of Mount Ararat unless it were truly necessary, in order to spare the boy having to go back there when it had so obviously unnerved him once before. But Max himself had identified the elephant in the room, albeit with clear reluctance and apprehension in his words.

"It does seem increasingly unlikely that we will stumble upon the jar at this pace without at least some indication of where more to look for it," Egon said, meeting Max's closed expression with cool logic, though he felt sympathy as he said it.

"Maybe if we look around a bit more, or dig into some of the other areas of the temple we can find something to give us some new ideas as to where to look," Ray offered. "If you're just searching blind, we'll never find it in time. There has to be a clue somewhere."

"The temple at Mount Ararat was in use long after the resealing of the jar," Virgil added, "so it would be unusual for the people of that time to have moved it without leaving some hint as to where they intended to take it. If my scrolls cannot identify its current resting place, then that information must be elsewhere."

"I don't like it," Norman said shortly.

"Yeah, but if it's the only lead we've got, it's worth doing, right big guy?" Peter asked.

"Now, wait a minute," Winston stepped in. "That place is bad news. We all agreed on it. If we all know going back there is bad enough for what it did to Max to get ranked in the top ten worst ideas ever, including land wars in Asia, why are we doing this again?"

"Because what else can we do?" Max sighed. "I don't want to go back there. I'd rather head home and make up all the math and history classes I've missed. Even Skull Mountain sounds a little appealing right now. But we have to do something. We can't just wait around until Pandora gets the jar open."

"Yeah, but…" Winston began.

"I know what to expect this time," the Cap-Bearer interrupted him. "And we're out of options. Let's do this before we talk ourselves out of it."

Max didn't even pause, just turned, reached over to the little cubby he'd been using to store his things over the last few days, and retrieved his heavy coat and boots. His back straight, he moved to one of the pillars nearest the still-open doorway and leaned against it, waiting.

The others exchanged looks. Peter could see the lines of Max's body language shouting his unease, and after four days, the psychologist had a fair grip of reading the boy's tells. It wasn't just being nervous about losing his ability to choose again, Peter would have bet Ray's money on it (and maybe his own). In fact, he guessed that Max really was more afraid of Pandora beating them to the jar than anything that could happen on a trip back to Mount Ararat. He seemed to have pushed aside his thinking about what mattered to him completely, and was now looking only at what his action, or inaction, meant for the world.

Which made for an excellent trait in a hero, but a strange one in a kid not even old enough to drive a car.

After only a moment's surprise, Virgil followed the boy, gesturing for the others to come along. Ray shrugged and also moved towards the Mighty One, gathering his pack and thick outer layers and a duffle with a few extra pieces of equipment and supplies. It seemed he was taking Max at his word, and if the kid said he was all right because it was what they had to do, he wasn't about to argue. That left Egon, Peter, Winston, and Norman standing in an odd circle.

"It's the logical course of action," Egon said, shifting his glasses a touch awkwardly. But there was clear concern on his face and, at Winston's piercing glare, he huffed. "But I've got a bad feeling about this one."

"Me too," Norman said quietly. But even as his perpetual frown deepened, he turned from them to join the others.

"We can't take that kid back there," Winston said firmly under his breath. "It's not right."

"He's the only one that can do this, Winston," Peter argued. "Nobody else can get us there. And besides, this isn't about him anymore. It's not about us either."

"No fee for this one, Pete," Egon teased, but the laugh in his words didn't reach his eyes.

"I know. But this one, this is Gozer again. This is the Doomsday Door again. For him, too." Peter felt his face drop out of its usual happy-go-lucky expression. "He's got to go back there and face whatever's there. And we've got to help him. We didn't ask to be heroes and he didn't either, but we've got the packs and he's got the Cap and we're here. Come on."

"Egon," Winston said warningly, "this isn't right. He's still just a kid."

"I know," the scientist replied, looking at where Peter was packing his own equipment in a bag. "Which is why we shouldn't make this harder on him than it already is. I honestly think Peter's correct. Max has to go and face this. But not alone. We'll be there. We'll make sure nothing happens to him. Okay?"

In a gesture of unexpected warmth, Egon put a hand on Winston's shoulder for a moment. And all at once, Winston remembered how much Egon had been driven into their business not because he was brilliant and fascinated by the supernatural, but because he had once been a scared kid alone against the Boogeyman. Winston might have hated leading any kid, even a genuine hero kid, into that dangerous place, but there was no denying that there was a shortage of other options at this point. He nodded once to Egon and turned to grab his coat. Egon and Pete were right. They had to go, and so did Max, no matter what.

But by everything he held sacred, he promised not to let the kid go in there alone and unprotected. And if he knew his teammates at all, they were making the same promise, too.

-==OOO==-

"Hey Virgil?" Max called through the echoing cavern.

"Yes, Mighty One?" In the near-utter darkness, Virgil's voice sounded from somewhere up ahead where he lead the rest without even a flashlight.

"This isn't the way we went to Mount Ararat before."

"That's true, Mighty One. But, given our previous experience, I deemed it worthy to find another route. I submit that you will not like this one better because it is longer, more complex, and not any safer strictly speaking, but it does avoid the warzone."

"How could it possibly be as dangerous as…?" Ray wanted to know. But he trailed off as he stumbled unexpectedly and the light he carried bobbled.

"Virgil…" Norman growled. He sounded almost exactly like a guard dog snarling at the first whiff of danger.

"Oh…very well," he said, his voice sounding a little scratchier, as though his mouth were becoming dry. "This cave leads to a portal that will take us to an area of Mount Ararat within climbing-distance of the temple."

"But?" Peter prompted.

"But, well, this cave has a rather high concentration of CO2, which, as you may begin noticing, has certain adverse effects on humans…"

"CO2! Virgil, we all could die!" Egon shouted from the back of the line.

"I calculate the likelihood of any one of us actually dying from the exposure to be minimal," he returned, "but you may all experience the symptoms of CO2 poisoning, including fatigue, anxiety, loss of energy, clumsiness, headaches and dizziness, and there is a 10-percent chance at least one of you will pass out prior to reaching the portal. However," he trailed off for a moment before continuing, "there is a 25-percent chance that some portion of the cave will be blocked and we shall have to spend extra time clearing the blockage before we reach the exit portal. But, other than what I've already mentioned, it is statistically unlikely that something as untoward as death will occur."

"You sound like a walking commercial for some scary prescription drug or something," Max grumbled. Of them all, he seemed the least surprised and most resigned.

"Okay, guys," Winston's voice was calm and collected as it rose over the other men winding up their own commentary, "if you begin feeling any of those symptoms or anything else, don't keep it a secret. We'll all make it if we're careful and if we hold it together."

"Swell," Peter grimaced.

"Mighty One?" Norman asked softly. The Cap-Bearer had been walking beside him, a few steps behind Virgil and leading the Ghostbusters. One of his unique long-lived-Viking gifts was uncannily keen eyesight, even in the near-pitch darkness of the cavern when Ray's flashlight darted away, and he was never so glad for it.

"I'm fine, Normie." Mighty Max's words were clipped, and the Guardian could practically hear his boy grinding through his thoughts. Obviously he was comparing this scenario to the battlefield they had traversed the last time, and realizing that, while both were dangerous in different ways, there was some rationale to Virgil's choice the first time around; here, they'd been walking for a while and would likely have to travel further before reaching the portal, whereas before it had been a matter of yards between where they came out and the portal they needed. If you saw both dangers as equal, the shorter route was probably better. But Norman didn't see them equally, and he knew his boy didn't either.

"Ray? You holding up okay?" Egon spoke as the flashlight's steady beam shook again.

"Yeah," he said, his breath labored, "but I'm feeling it, I think."

"Don't talk, Ray," Winston ordered. "I'll take the flashlight. You just focus on putting one foot in front of the other. If you start to pass out, grab for us."

"Yeah. Grab for Egon," Peter nodded. But, belying his words, he sidled up closer to Ray himself. Then he proceeded to mumble to himself about "fair warning next time, you big chicken" and "I didn't know there was a worse way to travel than the subway" and such.

In a tense mostly-quiet, then, they continued deeper and deeper into the cavern. Every few minutes, Winston called for everyone to check in and confirm that they were still all right. A few intervals later, Ray's voice got a bit fainter and Peter was obliged to take his arm to keep him going in the right direction. Virgil never faltered, giving some explanation about Lemurian physiology and extra oxygen in his bloodstream, and Norman responded as always with an affirmative grunt.

After more than a mile, they came upon an area that had fallen in somewhat, enough that each had to clamber through a relatively small hole individually. Virgil went first, followed by Norman.

"Here, Mighty One," the Viking put out a hand to steady his friend as he got his legs over the heap of rocks in the way.

"Thanks," Max reached for him and overbalanced himself, letting out a yelp as his limbs refused to coordinate themselves. He tumbled messily forward, but only for a few inches before his Guardian plucked him out of the air.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked the boy very softly, soft enough that no one else would hear. He understood well enough the Cap-Bearer's pride.

"Getting dizzy now. I hope we're near the end," he replied wearily. When Norman set him on his feet, he started to sway backwards somewhat alarmingly.

"So much for that, then," Norman muttered to himself, reaching for the boy and pulling him under an arm. The Mighty One's pride might be hurt, but better that than have him actually fall. He helped the four Ghostbusters through the gap as well, practically hauling Ray through the rocks rather than watch him try to navigate it with the lack of surefootedness he was showing.

"Virgil, how much farther?" Peter asked. His breath was starting to hitch too, and he could see Egon and Winston breathing more heavily. Ray was leaning on him for balance, and none of them were going to make it much longer.

"Just a bit more. The way appears to be clear," Virgil returned.

There was a very startled "Oh!" that reminded Peter of when a person gets an unexpected card in the mail more than anything else, and then Egon was diving to catch Winston before he cracked his head on the cavern floor.

"Winston! Is he okay?" Pete demanded.

"He's just unconscious," Egon replied after a moment. "Who'd have thought the unstoppable Winston would be the one to pass out?"

"He's not the only one," Norman growled from above. Egon pulled the flashlight from Winston's limp hand and lifted it to show the Guardian cradling his boy who was extremely pale and breathing rather shallowly.

"Oh. Well, um, perhaps the carbon dioxide is more severe than I anticipated," Virgil said tentatively. "Perhaps we'd best move forward rather more quickly?"

"Agreed. Norman, can you get Winston?" Peter asked. A moment of shuffling later and the Viking had one Ghostbuster under an arm and one Cap-Bearer curled up against his chest in the other. Egon and Peter got Ray between them and with a somewhat choking deep breath they began to jog in the direction Virgil indicated.

"I hope...we get there...soon," Peter gasped. "Or Norman's...gonna...run...out of arms."

"Here!" Virgil shouted, relief bright in his voice. Norman vaulted a remaining boulder and the Cap sprang to life. The portal lit the area brightly and Egon and Peter both got a good look at how pale Ray was and how colorless their own faces must be. Max looked like wax under the flickering light of the Cosmic Cap.

"Go through quickly," Egon ordered, dragging Pete and Ray forward and practically flinging the near-insensible Ghostbuster at the portal. Peter looked back at Norman to precede him, but the Guardian was already moving.

Virgil jumped into the portal himself, but Norman somehow got a hand or arm or a grip of some kind on everybody else and leaped as one mass, so when the portal deposited them on the freezing side of Mount Ararat, only Ray and Virgil were spared the enormous tangle of arms and legs that fought to extricate themselves from the Viking's weight.

"Hey, are you guys okay?" Ray asked, shaking his head slightly and offering a hand to pull Peter out from under the rest.

"Yeah," Pete took a very deep breath and felt his mind begin to clear. "How's Winston?"

"Still out," Virgil reported. Norman had gained his feet and had rescued Egon from where he'd been pinned by the unconscious Ghostbuster. Max was also still unconscious, and still held protectively in his Guardian's enormous arm.

"He'll be mad if we let him sleep too long," Peter quipped. He reached for the bag on Egon's back that held their medical supplies and pulled out the smelling salts. That he did so while also shoving Egon back down into the snow to get cold and soaked was purely accidental, of course. Within moments, Winston began sluggishly fighting to get away from the smell and muttering about "nobody KO's a Marine."

"Well, nobody who doesn't have a death wish, anyway," Egon smiled.

"Virgil," Norman said suddenly, and everyone turned. Max was still unconscious, and his skin had a bluish sheen to it.

"The Mighty One needs fresh air at once," Virgil said, rushing over. "I told you the other path was the better one to take!"

"Are you going to have to give him CPR?" Ray asked worriedly, offering Winston his coat.

"Allow me." Shaking his head once, Winston strode over to where Norman was gingerly holding the boy. In one smooth movement, he pulled Max out of the Guardian's grip, braced him against his own chest, and thwacked him as hard as he could between the shoulder blades.

"Come on, now," he muttered, raising his hand again.

"Do NOT strike the Mighty One again," came a sudden growl and he looked into the most furious face he'd ever seen in his life. But he narrowed his eyes and deliberately swung anyway.

Two things happened at once: the heel of Winston's hand made contact with Max's back, and Norman got his whole fist around Winston's neck.

The Ghostbusters all started to shout, plowing though the snow to help their friend, but it was the sudden bright cough that echoed in the cold air.

"Mighty One!" Virgil darted forward and got one feathery arm around the boy as he slipped from Winston's grip. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah...just give me a minute."

Winston lifted his gaze and met the angry stare of a gazillion pounds of Guardian. He tried to swallow, found he couldn't, and waited. Norman held him a moment more before relaxing, his enormous hand opening and dropping to his side. They shared a dark look for another few moments before at last Norman breathed out long and deep.

"Sorry. Don't know what came over me."

"Don't sweat it. Carbon dioxide's nasty. And," Winston flashed a smile, "thanks for trusting me. I know you didn't have to let me do that."

Norman grinned ferally in response, then returned to keeping an eye on his boy while Virgil tutted at him and helped him into his coat.

"So, we're back on Mount Ararat, huh?" Max said at last, after a few more minutes of breathing.

"And the temple is there," Virgil pointed. Rather than being above them, this time it was to their right, about a quarter of the way around the mountain. "We should reach it well before nightfall if we get moving now."

"Well, since we didn't bring a picnic basket..." Peter shrugged.

"Time to see what we can see," Max nodded. Another deep, delicious breath (who knew air was so good after all?), and he began to stride towards the dark shape that loomed before them.


	10. Paradise Lost

Wahoo! We're getting down to the wire! Which is of course why I'm waiting on the last set of updates for a while. Make those of you who actually read this thing squirm a little. Or at least pretend like I have readers who are waiting for an update. You guys reading this – you totally rock!

Since I didn't do one last time, here: Still don't own Might Max, the Real Ghostbusters, the Travel Channel, etc etc etc. I do, however, claim ownership of Shuru and Kagina. Still, none of this generates any profit at all, so no suing. And if anybody ever really wants to borrow my OC's, just PM me and I'll probably let you.

Enjoy!

* * *

The interior of the temple was unchanged from their previous visit a few days prior, except this time they knew where they were going. Retracing their steps, they cautiously made their way through the darkness, then again down into the darker darkness of the hidden hallway beneath the floor. Knowing what to expect made the journey a little easier, but this was heavily outweighed by the tension radiating off Max's stiff posture.

"You okay?" Ray asked softly at one turn in the corridor, when he and the boy were momentarily out of the visual range of Virgil and Norman.

"Yeah. It's just…I feel it more this time," he said under his breath. Then he stuck his chin out and made himself smile. "But now that I'm not surprised, I can handle it."

Ray nodded back but didn't say anything. There wasn't much he could do if the Cap-Bearer was determined to manage on his own. But he, too, knew that they were not alone in the temple. Ray was a Ghostbuster, and while that might not come with a whole bunch of mystical ooga booga destiny stuff the way the Cap did, it sure came with some well-honed instincts. The temple practically pulsed with the essence of something, far more than it had done when they'd last been there, and that hadn't been anything to sneeze at. Ray didn't know if that was a good thing or not. With their luck, he'd guess "not."

"We're here," Egon said from ahead. Ray looked up to see that, indeed, they had reached the partially opened doors. "This time, why don't you come in last, Mighty One?" he suggested. "Maybe if we are present we'll get a better reading on the effect your Cap has on this room."

"Okay."

Ray filed in behind Egon and Winston, noting how small Max's voice sounded suddenly. But his face didn't seem to suggest repressed fear. More…resignation maybe? Grim acceptance? It was an old look on his young face, but one Ray knew all too well. He'd seen it in the others of his team time and again. Usually right before something statistically fatal happened.

"This is such a nice vacation spot," Pete quipped as he entered the chamber again, lifting his flashlight and playing it idly across the shadowy corners. "We should tell the Travel Channel about it. They could run trips here."

"That was my FACE, Venkman," Winston growled as the bright beam of light momentarily blinded him. "I'm sure it's not much different than it was a minute ago, except how I can't see at all."

"Seeing's overrated anyway," Peter replied, but he managed to sound a little sheepish as he turned more carefully and aimed away from the others.

"That, at least, is a sensible statement," Egon put in, fiddling with the controls on the PKE meter. "I'm picking up energy sources all around us throughout the temple, sources I didn't see last time, but they're hard to identify with all the activity. This room has a tremendously high PKE, especially towards the center. And near the…you know," he waved vaguely at the human remains.

"Well, logically," Virgil put in as he made his way around the other Ghostbusters to stand beside Egon, "that suggests that there is some residual effect from the presence of the jar eons ago."

"We're looking for a clue about where it went, though, aren't we?" Norman asked, standing just inside the door.

"Right. Let's see if there's something that got left behind," Ray said, spreading to the left. "It's a little tougher in this total darkness, though."

The space suddenly blazed with light that seemed to pour from every surface when Max stepped into the room. Everyone flinched from the brightness and waited for their eyes to adjust.

"Never mind," Ray sighed.

"Wasn't my idea!" Max protested.

"Fascinating," Egon said, staring at the PKE meter. "His entrance seems to have precipitated a vast increase in the amount of activity centered in this room."

"Well we can see that," Winston blinked, looking back at the kid. "You doing okay, Max?"

"Sure," he said, but he shook his head a moment later as if to clear it. "It's not…the room isn't changing the way it did before, back to the past or whatever, but I kind of feel like it wants to. Not that that makes any sense or anything."

Norman shifted so that he was standing less than a step behind his boy and folded his arms. If he was trying to intimidate the room into leaving Max alone, he was probably doing a pretty good job of it, Ray thought. Even he was less likely to approach the kid with tall, dark, and burly glowering like that.

"Mighty One," Virgil said after a moment, "that…body there," and he pointed at the once-ugly remains. "Do you think it has something to do with what you're experiencing?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"I'm getting very strong PKE readings off the bones, increasing the more we stand here. Whatever is here, that's probably a part of it," Egon commented. He moved a little closer and stopped suddenly a couple of yards from the spot. "And," he cleared his throat, "even I can feel it. It's different here."

Ray felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck and a glance to Winston told him his fellow Ghostbuster was having a similar experience. Somehow Egon moving near the bones made it feel even more strongly paranormal.

"Yoo hoo!" Venkman yelled cheerfully. "Anybody here? We don't want to hurt you. Unless of course you want to hurt us; then we'll blast you. But we just wanna talk about something you might have spotted in the Lost and Found. Big dangerous jar, end of the world brand? Ring any bells?"

Max's whole body flinched hard to one side and he shuddered. Norman put a hand on his shoulder but the Cap-Bearer moved out from under it and stepped forward again. When he was beside Egon, he glanced up at the scientist, who noted that, again, Max's eyes were again strange, the bright blue almost completely swallowing up the dark pupils.

"This is not a good idea, Mighty One," the Guardian warned.

"I know. But I have to do this," he said.

"Be ready for anything," Egon looked over his shoulder at Ray and Winston and Peter. "There's no telling what will happen when his powers touch the source of the energy here. I have a feeling we got off lucky last time."

"By my calculations…" Virgil began, but Max shook his head.

"Don't tell me. You'll talk me out of it." Then, before he could quite gather himself, he took another two steps forward, dropped to one knee, and reached out to touch the bones that haunted him.

There was a bright, hot wash of power, and then nothing.

-==OOO==-

"Good morning, my love!" Shuru called as he expertly pushed open the sacred door while juggling his armload. From where she stood, his wife raised her head and smiled wearily.

"Shuru! Is it dawn already?"

"Yes. The morning has come bright and clear and glorious. Come away for a few moments, Kagina. I have your favorite fruit!" He grinned a bit childishly, setting his burden down on the small table in the corner nearest the door. Wrapped in leaves and smelling wonderful was a pile of fruits and nuts such as would normally take days to acquire in the lean times of the year. But this was golden summer, and the Goddess had been very kind.

"Thank you, my love," Kagina descended from the dais gracefully, her utter exhaustion visible only to her husband who knew her every move as keenly as his own. He looked at her, smiling anew. Shuru was a man of no particular worth – he was neither priest nor particularly prosperous nor terribly wise. But Kagina, first daughter of the clan's matriarch had chosen him for her mate against many suitors. Great honor went to the man whose wife was the most trusted priestess of the Goddess herself.

Shuru looked over his wife, her wide, proud face, her strong features, the commanding way she carried herself even as she settled onto a low seat and pulled at the food. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and he loved her devotedly. He missed her on the long nights she spent in the hidden chambers of the Goddess's temple, guarding the terrible thing within, but he did not begrudge her the duty. The Goddess's lands were vast and its needs many – she could not always sit beside such a thing of horror and pain. And so on certain nights, Kagina was called upon to stand in her Goddess's stead and guard it. Shuru knew only vaguely what was contained in the cold black thing, and he did not want to know more. It reviled him.

"Have you eaten, husband?" Kagina broke Shuru out of his thoughts.

"Yes, but I have the share-fruit if you care for it," he said shyly.

"Always, my love."

From deep in the offered meal Shuru removed a single fruit, fragile yet solid, that was the traditional symbol of shared home and hearth and love. It was said that mates who unbegrudgingly split the share-fruit each dawn and twilight would never know strife nor pain. During the lean parts of the year when the sharefruit was strongest, it was the reminder of easier times to come, and here, in high summer, though withered and bitter, it bespoke the bond that endured through all suffering. With an expert crack, Shuru dug his fingers into the husk and pulled it apart into two roughly even halves. Then, as per tradition, he offered them both to Kagina.

"This is my bounty and my hardship, my labor and my rest. I offer all to you, to be shared as you see fit, for you are the strength I know not and the survival of my heart." He said the words reverently, truly. No matter how many days passed, he would never not mean the oath with all his being.

"I accept all that you offer, but not as my own. Together we shall share in what we create. Together we endure the hardship and reap the bounty. Accept from me this gift of your love returned, and filled with my own as well." Kagina's voice could be so soft, and as she kissed one of the halves and passed it back to her husband, she met his eyes with affection.

As one they bit into the fruit within the rind, eating it in silence and spilling not a single drop. To do otherwise was bad fortune. When it was done, Shuru reclaimed what remained of the inedible rinds to bury them along the walls of the house, returning to the earth what was the earth's and passing the promise into the very walls that sheltered the couple.

Kagina and Shuru knew that, as priestess, Kagina's duties might last for days or months until the Goddess returned to the temple to guard its secret again, and so as always when she fulfilled her duty and they might only visit at morning and nightfall, they enjoyed each other's company, telling stories and singing playful songs more common to children. But Kagina was always full of joy, and her happiness brought out relieved and unexpected bliss in her husband, and only at her side did he laugh so freely and doubt himself so little. Theirs was an idyllic life, sweet and gentle and filled with peace.

Until that morning.

Shuru was just beginning to prepare himself to return to their home while Kagina remained awake and alert at the temple when a sudden shudder seemed to run through the entire temple, the walls shaking and the air suddenly becoming cold. Then a deep sound, deeper than any drum, deeper than thunder, began to fill the space.

"Kagina, what…?"

But Kagina was not listening. She was already moving, fleeing back to the dais and placing her hands onto the strange form, biting back a cry at the painful cold of the blackness under her skin. She closed her eyes and began a chant, one known only to the priestesses, a chant of power.

The roiling, dark sound retreated a bit and Kagina looked up, her dark eyes meeting Shuru's with absolute conviction and command.

"Husband! Light the signal fire on the temple's altar! As quickly as it can be done!"

Shuru knew better than to waste time with questions, so he turned and raced down the familiar passageway. With Kagina the only priestess in the temple, she could not do both duties at once, and the Goddess must be told of the danger. The altar was one all the people knew well, a great cauldron of flame and water that generally stood empty on the very roof of the temple. It was where the people gathered several times a year to worship and celebrate and receive the blessing of the Goddess. Shuru ran with all his power, snatching a torch from one of the dark stairwells as he ascended, casting it into the cauldron furiously. As soon as the flame caught the interior of the cauldron, the fire broke forth, shooting into the sky many times taller than he and burning with an almost white flame. The sun itself seemed dim in comparison.

But Shuru had no interest for the fire. He made all haste to return to the sacred chamber and Kagina. But what he saw nearly broke his heart.

In the center of the room, a darkness was swirling around the dais, and with each pass it seemed to cut into Kagina's body, shedding her blood even as it whipped the warmth from her skin. Kagina had not let go of the thing at all, and seemed to be gripping it with all her strength. When Shuru reappeared she turned to him, her face ghastly with blood and littered with wounds.

"Shuru! Husband! Flee now!"

"What is happening?" he asked, moving a step closer.

"The guardian of evil is breaking. I must hold it until the Goddess returns or all evil shall spill out into the land!"

"Kagina," Shuru gasped, "it's hurting you. Come away!"

"I cannot," she said back, flinching as a gash opened on her collarbone. "If I let go the evil will emerge and it will harm you, Shuru, and everyone we love. I will endure until death if that is what is asked of me. It is my duty. Now flee, my love, and do not look back!"

Kagina closed her eyes and bent back over the black thing that seemed to be shifting and changing even before Shuru's eyes. Her words rolled through him and he found himself disgusted. Kagina die? Never! He could not allow it, not for anything. He loved her!

A new blast of cold air filled the space and Kagina screamed. And without another thought, Shuru was moving. He felt the cold bite into his skin as well, but he did not stop until he was at Kagina's side. For one moment he found himself staring at the blackness and feeling as though it would consume him whole. Then he pulled himself from the gaping gaze of the eyeless jar and wrapped his arms around Kagina. He pushed with his legs and together they fell away from the object of so much evil.

"Shuru! No! Don't!" she cried.

"I won't lose you! I don't care about the world. I just care about you!"

Kagina began to pull herself from her husband's arms, wild with terror, but his act had already turned the tide. The complicated formation on the top of the black horror began to crumble, the cold wind stealing tiny pieces of it that were sharp and hard and weakening it with every passing instant. Before her eyes, that which had protected the world from evil began to shatter, and with it, the safety of everything she had ever sworn to protect.

"Shuru! Let me go! I've got to stop it!"

"No!" he cried out, wrapping his arms more tightly around her, holding her back and pinning her against his chest with a strength born of desperation. "It'll kill you!"

The seal broke at last and the lid of the jar moved just slightly, enough to open a gap.

"It doesn't matter if it kills me!" she shouted. "If I don't do something, it could kill EVERYONE!"

Shades were beginning to pour from the thing now, shadows and creatures that neither could look upon without fear. Horrifying shapes and faces and wicked teeth and claws and configurations of bone and body never known to their gentle world. And still Kagina fought Shuru, pleading, weeping now, that he allow her to fulfill her duty and hold back these creatures no matter the cost. But Shuru turned a deaf ear and did not let her go.

"If the world burns, it burns. But I won't live in a world without Kagina," he said to himself as he fought her.

After what seemed like an eternity, there was a sudden crack in the room and a blinding white light shot through the still-open doors. Shuru looked up just long enough to see the image of the Goddess standing before the vessel before vanishing completely.

"No!" Kagina's anguished cry reached him and at last, and too late, she escaped his embrace. She raced to the dais, already chanting.

"Kagina!" he pulled himself to his feet and made to go after her. Then, a last shadow trickled from the thing and reared like a cobra before the bloody priestess. "Look out!"

Kagina never saw the blow coming, so intent was she on reaching her post. The shadow fell on her like a stone and she dropped to her knees and screamed. But the scream cut off suddenly with a broken, wet sound. A moment later, it was replaced by laughter.

And the thing that stood in her place was no longer Shuru's wife.

"Little mortal," the new voice hissed, even as the features of the woman Shuru had loved began to twist and rearrange into a countenance both compelling and dire, "I thank you. If not for your selfish foolishness, I and those like me would still be trapped. Your priestess was delicious, by the way, all that honor and noble goodness. But she is gone now, and we are free."

"No… It can't be…" Shuru felt his feet go out from under him as he fell bonelessly.

"And where is your pretty Goddess?" The being who had taken Kagina looked around, looked back at from whence she'd come, and laughed. "Inside! Of course! She holds them from there. But not for long." She turned towards it. "Dear, dear Anesidora, now you are limited and confined and helpless. Allow me to end your pitiful suffering and reopen the way to this world."

"Kagina…" Shuru whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What have I done?"

Perhaps it was a dream, but for a moment Shuru felt that he could see Kagina, the real Kagina, meeting his eyes, standing before him. She looked sad and frightened as she had never been in life, but there was love even within the pain in her gaze.

"Shuru, my husband. You must do what I cannot. The Goddess will be destroyed and all the earth will turn to evil forever if you do not. You must die in my place, my love. Let the monster slay you and let your blood flow upon the opening. It is the only way."

"I would have died for you before," he found a sob in his throat, "but I couldn't let you die. I just…I couldn't. And it was all for nothing."

"It will be for nothing if we fail now, my love. My life is gone. Into your hands I entrust my own duty. Be brave, my love. All the land needs you to do what I cannot."

Somehow Shuru lurched to his feet, even still feeling numb and cold and aching more than he knew was possible. The false-Kagina had almost reached her goal, and he knew he had no more time for doubt or selfish suffering. What had he done? What had he released into the world? Solely because he could not watch the woman he loved suffer a terrible death? And it had all ended in failure anyway. There was no honor to regain now, no hope to undo what he had done, to return what he had lost. He could only keep it from getting worse.

With a speed he didn't know he had, Shuru ran to the dais and put himself between the face that looked less and less like his beloved wife and more like a beautiful monster. He threw out his arms and leaned against the cold metal that cut into his skin painfully.

"Stop!" he commanded. "I won't let you!"

"Oh, get out of my way," she snarled. Then, rather than simply batting him away or something similarly expected, she lifted an arm and he found himself hovering in the air above a yawing darkness he could never have described. "Die, foolish one."

The pain was unending. Shuru screamed high and helpless, shock and fear and agony ripping through him even as his limbs were torn from his body. His blood fell like rain.

The blood trickled onto the black thing on the dais and, as soon as it touched, the space again rumbled with silent thunder. And, as Shuru's vision faded and he was tossed aside, he could see a new formation growing from his spilled blood onto the vessel. Vine-like protrusions clamped onto the mouth of the terrible darkness and a seal cut off the cold air completely.

"Shuru."

Even through his hazy vision, color draining from his sight as he was dying, he could see Kagina perfectly, standing before him. He could not speak, though, and it tore at him.

"You have done so well, my love. You must do one more thing to fulfill my duty."

If he could have, Shuru would have shaken his head, but he could not move. He was dying. There was nothing on earth he could do now.

"No, husband. I know you cannot move. I need you only to trust me."

Shuru felt what remained of his heart lurch and he breathed out. He trusted Kagina with everything. He loved her with everything. Whatever her will now, he would give it. He owed her so much more than what he had left to offer. As he faded, he could hear her voice clear and quiet, soft as though she, too, were falling into oblivion…

"Immortal within and mortal without, blood of the gods and blood of a good man, let the guard against all evil be hidden from sight for all time. By our lives poured out, by innocent blood shed, let this, our charge, be banished and unfound for eternity…"

-==OOO==-

"Virg!' Virgil, wake up!"

The Lemurian opened his beak to say that he was already awake, but the only sound that came out was a low moan. He felt his head lifted until he was half-sitting, leaning against something.

"Come on, Virgil. Say something annoying, prove you're okay." There was worry in the young voice and Virgil felt himself answering in spite of the fact that he'd far rather sleep for two months.

"I am not annoying, Mighty One, and I resent the implication otherwise."

As he blinked what felt like sand out of his eyes, he took in the scene. He was being propped up against Norman with Mighty Max leaning over him, his face breaking into a relieved grin. Behind the Cap-Bearer, the four Ghostbusters were staring at something out of his line of sight.

"Come on, Virg. You've got to see this!" Max started tugging on his arm.

"I…had a dream or a vision of some kind," he began, allowing the boy to pull him to his unsteady feet.

"We all did," Egon said, looking back. "I believe we have just witnessed the precise events of the past when the jar was opened."

"You're very chill about all this," Max pointed out.

"Kid, when you've seen what we've seen, a shared hallucination from thousands of years ago doesn't even crack the top ten," Winston winked.

"But apparently we cracked something else," Ray put in, pointing. "I think we found it."

Where there had been nothing at all, just a dusty dais, there was no longer empty space. Standing easily four feet in height loomed an enormous black, ominous-looking jar. The sides were curved like an urn, and though there seemed to be carvings or markings on it, the whole metal of the jar was so black that they were almost indecipherable, and, even worse, seemed in the strange light to be shifting or moving. Clamped on top of the jar, holding the trashcan-sized lid down was an enormous and intricate contraption of some kind, obviously the locking mechanism of the seal.

Slowly, hesitantly, everyone shifted closer to the jar for a better look. The lid of the jar, partially obscured by the lock, was carved as one enormous demonic-looking mouth, curving down into the jar as though the face would draw anything that dared to roll into that yawing formation into the cold emanating from within. But the lid was clasped firmly onto the jar by multiple arms that snaked down the sides and melted into a central sort of ornamental figure on top.

"Looks like the jar is being held closed by an octopus," Winston muttered to himself, studying it. And there was some truth to that – if the octopus in question was sitting in the middle of the lid and using its arms to pin the lid to the jar, and if the octopus had, instead of a head and body, a wicked-looking twist of its arms culminating in the silhouette of a human body in the act of being torn apart.

"It's kind of sick," Max remarked with a shiver. "That's Shuru, isn't it?"

"It appears that the manner of his death is what created this formation on the jar," Egon said, shifting his glasses, "and thus the seal to hold it closed. I wonder why it was not visible to us before but is now."

"Does it matter?" Norman wanted to know.

"Potentially," Ray put in. "Virgil, you said there was no record of what had happened to the jar after it was resealed. I guess we know why now. It never moved after all. It was just invisible."

"I would speculate, then, that the Mighty One's contact with Shuru's body is what allowed us to see through the illusion cast by Kagina upon their deaths to hide the jar. Likely, however, it is still invisible to anyone who was not present a few moments ago." Virgil prepared to say something else, but a new sound wailed into the ancient chamber.

"What was that?" Peter turned towards the noise, proton accelerator already in his hands.

Just next to Shuru's remains, a dark shape seemed to be flowing out of the floor itself. A sense of dread and power and fear choked the room as thoroughly as though a smoke bomb had exploded. Without even thinking, the other three Ghostbusters readied their own weapons, while Norman drew his sword.

"I don't like this, guys!" Ray called.

"Me either. Shoot on one, two, three!" Winston ordered.

Four bright lights jumped to life with a crash and the beams danced towards the emerging darkness. There was a terrible sensation of pulling and all of a sudden the Cap-Bearer's eyes widened in horror.

"No, wait! Stop! It's…"

"Too late," sighed a voice all around them.

The steams had hit the dark shape head on, but rather than dissipating it, or even causing it to finish revealing itself, the shape simply popped like a balloon and left the four Ghostbusters blasting only Shuru's bones. With an audible cracking sound, the mortal remains of the temple's last guardian disintegrated. A wash of cold swept through the room.

"The seal!" Virgil squawked as the Ghostbusters belatedly cut off the particle beams. "By eradicating Shuru's body, the jar is no longer hidden from sight!"

"Indeed. I thank you for revealing it to me."

In the doorway loomed a vaguely feminine shape. At once it was apparent that this was Pandora, for she bore a frightening resemblance to Kagina, but twisted and ugly and impossibly evil. Her face was turned up in a satisfied smile more reminiscent of a frenzied angler fish than a person, and her hair, crowned with its clawed tips, was ranged around her head like a halo.

"Pandora," Max breathed. He squared his shoulders and glared at her.

"I got this. YAH!" Norman charged.

"Wait!" Egon called, too late.

What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion. Norman sprang at the demon, poised to strike. Then, at a flick of her eyes, her hair shot forward and the barbed horns flew towards his unprotected arms and face. The instant they sliced through his skin, Norman froze, as though turned to stone. Then he slowly drew himself up to a strangely stiff sort of ramrod tallness. The color of his flesh drained until he was as grey as she, and when the hair coils retreated and he finally turned, his eyes had become completely black.

"Normie?" the Mighty One called hesitantly.

"Remember, Mighty One. The Guardian will never harm you," Virgil said stalwartly, but there was a touch of uncertainty in his voice. And given the slack, empty look on the Viking's face, Max wasn't so sure either. Norman might never harm him, but Norman might not be home anymore.

Pandora flung her arms open and several crawling bodies came in behind her from the doorway.

"Let my triumph begin!"


	11. Confrontation

I guess I let you wait long enough. Here's the last set of installments for this particular story. I hope it's been a fun ride. I certainly had fun myself while writing it. Make sure you hit the epilogue – I seriously think the best speech I've ever written is there.

I still don't own Mighty Max or the Ghostbusters or any of the myriad of things that will get referenced from here on out. We'll just go with it, okay?

Hey, citizenjess and finem? This one's for you two, who always keep me excited to write.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Your Guardian, Cap-Bearer, is now mine. As will you all become if you do not give me what I want and stand aside. Your end can be far more painful than eternal servitude to me, if I choose it. Mighty One, come to me at once." Pandora smirked at the surprised and dismayed faces before her.

"Not a chance!" Winston yelled. "Let's go men!" And he opened fire, followed by the others, all of whom tried to avoid hitting Norman, but between Pandora and her entourage of five or six demons like the two they'd seen in the grocery store, they had no shortage of targets.

"Protect the Mighty One at all costs!" Egon shouted.

"But…" Max began hesitantly; he started to move towards where his Guardian was using his sword to prevent the positron beams from striking Pandora. Ray appeared beside him and, one hand still firing, used the other to shove the boy behind him.

"Sorry kid, but you're way more important than we are right now." He narrowly dodged an incoming blow from a demon, flinging a trap with his off hand and stomping on the pedal just in time to prevent losing more than some hair and a bit of skin from his forehead to the grasping claws.

"No, I'm not!" he protested, only to feel himself being pulled away by Virgil. "Virg! We've got to do something! They can't go up against Pandora AND Norman! They're going to get themselves killed!"

"If that is their destiny, Mighty One, we cannot thwart it," and the Lemurian's voice was somber. "You must honor their sacrifice and focus only on saving the world."

"No way! I've had it with letting people take the fall for me!" And feeling a bright warmth in his chest, Max knew exactly what he had to do. Seeing that Virgil had no intention of letting go of his elbow, he grinned a little wildly. "Sorry about this!"

He grabbed the hood of the Lemurian's ancient toga-thing and pulled it over his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Virgil, as Max knew he would, immediately released his arm to pull back the fabric, and in that instant, the Cap-Bearer made a break for it. He took a quick stock of the situation, surprised at how badly it had imploded in less than a minute.

Near the doorway, Pandora still loomed, Norman positioned in front of her and keeping the Ghostbusters at bay. Four or five demons stumbled or flew through the room, roaring and snarling and making themselves really annoying to the Ghostbusters, who were alternately trying not to get clawed or bitten and to keep up some kind of perimeter between the creatures and Max and Virgil nearer to the jar.

Egon cried out – he had gotten pretty close to Norman and, in ducking an expert swipe with the greatsword, had managed to bash open his palm on the jagged rocks on the ground. Peter ran up, sporting a cut under one eye, but managed to angle himself so that the positron accelerator was not appealing to the possessed Guardian.

"Hey! Norman!" Max dodged a demon, and a grab by Winston who had noticed him slip their perimeter, and raced in close to his friend. "For what it's worth, I'm really, really sorry about this!"

The Cap-Bearer had only the beginnings of an idea, but it seemed to be enough to go on. He knew that they'd have to fight Pandora in a minute, and he didn't want to do that without his Guardian. He also knew he had to keep Norman from hurting the Ghostbusters and vice versa. So he did the only thing that made any sense at all.

As he charged Norman, he noted a sudden slowness in the Viking's movements, as if he were less able to turn against the Mighty One. Which was what Max had been counting on. So when Max flung himself on Norman's back and covered his eyes, just as he had the demon back in New York City, he wasn't immediately cut to pieces. He wrapped himself tightly around Norman's solid neck and kicked with his feet, landing a solid blow to the arm that rose up against him. Norman's sword seemed to slip from his fingers a bit too easily, but he could work with that.

Until a moment later, when a rough hand had Max's collar and he was swung around and staring into endless blackness where the eyes of his friend should have been.

"Heh. Hiya big guy," he huffed nervously.

"Enough!" Pandora shouted.

"Fine with me!" Peter yelled back. "Looks like it's six on two. Or five and a half on two and a half depending on how you count the bird and the mountain man." True enough, the last trap snapped closed on the only other demon in the room besides Pandora. The four Ghostbusters lined up to face her, but lowered their weapons upon seeing Max's predicament.

"Stand aside," she commanded, and when Norman shook Max warningly the others complied, making a path for Pandora and Norman to the dais.

"What are you doing?" Egon asked angrily. "You can't possibly think it's a good idea to open the jar!"

"Of course not," she almost smiled at him. "I need no competition from those too foolish to remain trapped. But their power, that I will harness and leave them to languish!"

To everyone's horror, then, she turned and swept the Cosmic Cap off of Max's head. With a gesture she settled it on the seal above the jar. The Cap began to glow with a dark light that seemed to siphon the cold from the jar directly to Pandora. A moment later, the same dark light surrounded her and lifted her into the air.

"Do you feel it, you meaningless humans? The power of all evil, the power to rule all that is, released to me by the one charged to protect it!"

Pandora was changing as she hung like a dark moon over the jar, growing larger, more grotesque, her laughter deepening as the space began to feel even more oppressive. Max could feel it, could feel the evil of a million uber-Skullmasters leaching from the jar into Pandora. And his Cap was the conduit. He had to do something!

"Normie, please, you've got to snap out of it. I need your help to stop her!"

"Do not interfere!" she shrieked, and she spat a shadow to the ground. The darkness unfurled and revealed two more demons, larger than their counterparts. They advanced on the Ghostbusters menacingly.

"Norman! You are the Guardian! Please!" And Max let go of everything but the fact that he was the Mighty One, his Guardian was in trouble, and the world was about to end, or it would if Pandora got her way. He didn't have the Cap, but he didn't need it. His power was alive in his heart.

Swinging from where he dangled, he did the only thing he could.

Max flung himself into Norman's arms and held on tight, burying his head in his friend's shoulder.

"Please, big guy. You aren't Pandora's monster. You're my friend. Now snap out of it!" And as he shouted, he felt the bright bubble of his inborn whatever-it-was grow white-hot. He looked up and met Norman's black eyes.

And, suddenly, the black washed away. The Guardian blinked once and found himself with an armful of distraught Cap-Bearer. With no Cap. And a monster in the air, two on the ground, and the Ghostbusters in trouble.

"What happened, Mighty One?"

Max's smile could have lit up the night, but he hurried to say, "Long story! Just go help the guys deal with those things!" and he pointed towards the demons.

"It would be my pleasure," Norman growled happily, setting Max down.

"Okay guys!" Ray called out, seeing that the boy was no longer a hostage and Norman was back to himself. "Time to do what we do best!"

"You get those things!" Peter called. "I'll handle Princess Ugly up there!" And he opened fire just as one of the demons flung a rock towards him, causing him to lurch sideways and the beam to wobble wildly.

"No!"

The blast from the proton accelerator missed its mark and struck not Pandora nor the jar, but the Cap glowing from the top of the strange black lock which was sporting cracks that had not been there before. Max had a moment of sheer horror before he remembered that even the Ghostbusters couldn't destroy the Cosmic Cap; instead, it broke loose from the strange energy that had kept it in place, sailing away from the dais. But before he could cheer, Pandora gave an inhuman shriek.

"You fool! The Cap allowed me to control the jar! Now it will open completely!"

And indeed, to their dawning horror, the jar seemed to be vibrating. A split-second later, what remained of the lock shattered to dust and the lid shot straight up, striking the far-above ceiling before crashing down at the other end of the room.

"No!" Max shouted. He felt his feet racing before he was even aware he was moving. Everything slowed. He could feel, with a slimy, sickening shudder, the insidious forces of evil beginning to bulge and creep from the jar that had contained them for so long. He could hear his own heartbeat, inexplicably loud against a sudden silence, as though all sound had been removed from the world, all but his own heart.

Then reality slammed back and Max was at the jar.

Unable to think, reacting entirely on instinct, the Mighty One pushed his hands against the yawing mouth of the vessel, trying vainly to cover it. His fingertips brushed against the far lip while his elbows balanced the nearer one, and he spread his hands helplessly. They seemed so small, so precariously situated. He couldn't even hold back sand or water or puppies if they were to come spilling forth – how would he prevent the escape of a million demons worse than Skullmaster into his world?

"_Mighty One."_

The Cap-Bearer felt a touch in his mind, soft and warm and serene. It was a female voice, one he had never heard before, but, as his brain shook itself, one he recognized. Not because he'd heard it before; rather, because he knew who it must be.

"Anesidora?"

"_Yes. With the jar truly open, the very world is in peril. I will keep the evil at bay as long as I can, but I will need your help."_

"What can I do?" The Mighty One felt a sudden coldness, like an icy blade, slice into his palms. It took all his strength not to pull away in surprise and pain.

"_Your power allows you to bind the jar yourself, as I have done all this time. Hold fast, Mighty One. And as soon as you can, replace the lid and then we must lock it again. I will do all I can to assist you."_

"But I can't even cover it," he replied desperately.

"_The body is unimportant, the span of your hands irrelevant. Seal the jar with your will, Mighty One, and every force in the universe will obey."_

"But what about you?" Max asked, feeling the sensation bite into his wrists, making his fingers burn. There was a sudden warmth that immediately froze, and he knew he was bleeding. He wasn't sure he could hold on through this pain for a few more minutes, and he had a sudden sense of the endless millennia Anesidora had been enduring far worse. "If we put the top back on, you'll be trapped again. Can't you, you know, jump out at the last second?"

"_No, Mighty One, though I thank you for your concern. This is my place. When you have the chance, close the jar without regret for me. For as long as I remain here, so too will my precious world be safe."_

Max felt a sudden hot tear on his cheek, and it was only somewhat induced by the steadily worsening feelings in his hands. As his arms went numb, he grit his teeth. Anesidora had held evil back for longer than even Norman had been alive; he could handle it for a few minutes. He had to. But no amount of will or nobility could prevent him from looking over his shoulder to where the others continued to dodge the demons.

"Not to rush you or anything but HURRY UP! COULD USE A LITTLE HELP HERE!"

An answering grunt was the only indication Max had that Norman was still in the fight. But then, of course he was. The Mighty One's position prevented him from being able to turn, and he didn't dare let go of the jar to move, leaving him with only Pandora herself in his field of view. The look of horror on her face when the jar had opened had eased now that he was in place, and in fact, she looked rather satisfied.

"Thank you, Chosen One," she said mockingly, drawing near. At her approach, Max flinched. He could feel the evil rolling off her. It was like a bad smell so pervasive it seemed to invade his very body.

"Didn't anybody ever teach you not to open presents before Christmas morning?" he shot back.

"But what greater celebration could there be besides my triumph?" she returned, smirking horribly.

"I can think of a few!" he yelled. Up close, this newly-enhanced Pandora was even worse than before, but at least, now that he was holding the jar himself, she didn't seem to be absorbing any more energy. She hadn't grown any larger or more disfigured. It was better than nothing; small victories and all that.

"Mighty One!" Egon shouted in alarm. Max turned enough to see the last demon vanish into one of the Ghostbusters' traps, the four men leaving it where it had been thrown and charging towards him. Norman picked himself up from across the room and joined them.

But before they were quite to the dais, Pandora reared up, shouting.

"Oh, little fire-bringers! How pathetic you are!"

"Get her!" Ray bellowed and as one the Ghostbusters took aim and fired.

"Mighty One," Virgil suddenly appeared to Max's left, "you must not let go, no matter the consequences!"

"I know that, Virg!" he returned exasperatedly. "But if I'm here, how do we beat her?"

"You don't!"

Looking back to Pandora, Max felt himself go paler and colder still. The four beams of the proton packs danced around her like streamers, and about as effectively. She batted them away with ease.

"Keep it up, men!" Peter ordered. "Full power."

"Your power means nothing," Pandora laughed coldly. Even with the still-brighter beams, they seemed inconsequential.

"What now?" Norman demanded, joining Max and Virgil and looking up helplessly.

"I…I don't know," Virgil squawked despairingly. "The Mighty One should be able to defeat her, but with the jar open…"

"That's it!" Max shouted, his face lighting up. "Bring me the Cap, quick!"

Norman sped to obey without asking; if the Cap-Bearer had an idea, he would see it through. Ducking the dangerous particle streams, he retrieved the Cap from where it had fallen and raced back, placing it on his boy's head with quick reverence.

"What are you thinking?" Egon asked breathlessly as the four drew nearly parallel with the dais. Pandora had floated up and back away from the jar, and now Egon and Winston stood to Max's right, Ray and Peter to his left, with Norman and Virgil just behind him.

But Max ignored him. Instead, he turned his mind inward.

"Anesidora?"

"_Yes, Mighty One?"_

"I've got to help my friends. I've got to fight Pandora or we'll never be able to reseal the jar. But I can't let go. And I'm not sure I'm strong enough to do everything on my own."

"_I understand. I will assist you. But know that you do not need it. Your power is great."_

In the next moment, Max felt himself become nearly incandescent. Like the one time he'd touched the Sun page of the Lemurian Arcana, he felt himself light up with a power that was at once his and yet so far beyond him it was galaxies apart. He didn't know how much of it was his own and how much was Anesidora's and how much came from what he guessed was a long-dormant power in the temple itself, but it didn't matter. It was almost more than he could handle, but Max had touched the fabric of the portals before. He'd held the Crystal of Souls when Skullmaster was reordering the universe. He knew in a way no one could ever understand exactly how much he could take. And he could do this.

"Okay, Pandora! Let's see how it feels to absorb THIS!" he shouted with a brilliant grin lighting up his face.

Max shifted so that one hand hovered above the center of the jar's opening, just above the event horizon beyond which he knew waited untold evils. He set his other on his Cap for just a moment to steady himself, then pushed his palm forward with every ounce of will and power he could draw from the Cap, the universe, Anesidora, and himself. A bright golden light crackled to life around him and a beam of his own joined the other four surrounding the demon goddess.

"Mighty One?" Peter asked in confusion.

"Come on! We can do this together!" the Cap-Bearer called back.

"What have you done?" Pandora screamed, twisting as the golden light seemed to saturate the four particle streams with still more energy and the five beams began to close in on her.

"He's the Mighty One! We told you so!" Norman yelled with a sort of savage smile.

"The infusion of energy seems to be exponentially impacting the output of our…"

"English, Egon!" Winston snapped.

"Whatever the kid's doing, it's making us all stronger," Egon replied a little archly.

"Well I can see that!"

"Can we get her like this?" Peter asked.

"Looks like. A trap will never hold her, though," Ray said, gritting his teeth.

"No," Virgil suddenly made himself heard, "but the jar will. Draw her in, Mighty One, and seal her with the others."

"No!" Pandora shrieked in a panic, lashing out against the bonds of energy that were ever more tightly confining and draining her. "No! I'll never, never go back!"

"Stop…making…her…mad…" Max panted. Even lit up like a Christmas tree, the boy could feel the strain of multitasking his energies. It was vaguely like trying to hold back Niagara Falls while dragging a tractor towards himself on a very tenuous thread, and every time Pandora moved he could feel it test his resolve and strength to both bind her and keep the jar from opening completely. But the warm energy continued to pour into him from Anesidora, offering him a well of power that seemed boundless. And between that, the inherent energy of the Cap, and his weirdly dialed-into-the-cosmos stuff, he didn't think he'd run dry. If Pandora'd quit moving around so much, that is!

"Get around behind her!" Winston suggested. "Push her towards the jar!"

The four Ghostbusters began shifting their position, expertly working towards and then under and behind where Pandora hung in the air, struggling and shouting. With the barest of signals, the four readjusted their position and began a concentrated push forward. They dug their feet in firmly and drove as hard as they could, leaning against the streams with all their might.

"You...are the…heaviest…ghost-demon-thing…I've ever…had to move," Peter panted. And it was true. It would have been easier to push the firehouse than it was forcing her forward, but it didn't matter. As one, the four had set themselves to it. Winston's face was granite concentration and stubbornness. Ray's was twisted up like a child focusing on a task, complete with the tip of his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth. Egon's forehead was deeply furrowed and his head was down as though he could force her to move with his will alone. And Peter felt his own expression harden. Do or die time, huh?

"Max!" he yelled across the sparking energy. "When we get her close enough, it's gonna be up to you to get her in there."

"I know." The boy's voice had gone calmly solid. "I've got this."

The Cap-Bearer looked up into Pandora's face and remembered his vision. Shuru had lost everything – his wife, his life, his eternity – to this monster. She had killed Kagina and taken her body, but she had taken far more from Shuru. And she would take it from all of them if he gave her the chance. His will narrowed.

Pandora would be sealed in the jar or he would die trying. Nobody was getting hurt any more today, not on his watch.

As if reading his thoughts, the monster gave up struggling long enough to laugh again.

"You're going to die anyway, Chosen One! It is inevitable!"

"What do you mean?" Norman demanded.

"Even if you defeat me, even if you force me into that prison, it will take the spilled blood of a hero to seal the lid to the jar. He must throw himself in like Anesidora before him or die upon it as that foolish priest did to bind and hide it again. Even if you banish me, the world will still grow darker because the Mighty One will be destroyed!"

"It can't be," Virgil said with despair. The surprise and shock of his voice was enough that even the Ghostbusters faltered in their push forward.

"It doesn't matter," Max's words rang out confidently. "I'm going to save the world whatever it takes. And that starts with getting rid of you!"

Norman stole a look at his boy and was not surprised to see wetness on his cheeks, but he was surprised that it was blood. Whatever the Mighty One was doing appeared to be drawing wounds across his body like had happened to Kagina before him: his ears leaked droplets of fluid, his nose bled, and even his eyes dripped slightly reddened tears. He looked a mess, and the fierce, almost hateful look in his eyes arrested the Guardian completely. But it wasn't hate.

"Love," Virgil said softly beside the Viking, meeting his eyes sadly and answering the unvoiced question. "The Mighty One loves this world enough to die for it without fear or regret."

"Well of course. He's the Mighty One."

Max ignored them both. He turned to see the four Ghostbusters looking at him, all hesitating slightly. He drew himself up as much as he could and nodded once. Then, turning his gaze back to Pandora, he closed the hand he'd been using to command the energy into a tight fist. At once the streams around her coalesced into a solid ring of power.

"Welcome to the Hotel Pithos," Max quipped brightly. "Enjoy your stay!"

And with a rough gesture he drove his fist down and into the jar.

There was a terrible sucking sound and a high-pitched cry echoed through the room. The entire ball of energy flattened into a streak of light in the air that snapped after the fist and vanished into the dark infinity of the jar. And everything was quiet for a moment.

"Max, are you okay?" Winston yelled, running forward.

"Sure," the Cap-Bearer shrugged a little as, feeling the power in him drain away, he returned both hands to the mouth of the jar, the one he'd plunged in with Pandora feeling strangely numb, cold, and looking like he'd stuck it in scalding water though he couldn't feel it yet, nor the blood congealing in the cracks of his palm. "Just a vocational hazard."

A soft piece of cloth moved across his face and Max looked down to see Virgil carefully wiping away the blood with his handkerchief. For the first time he became aware of the stinging sensation in his ears, the heat dripping from his nose, and the oddly red haze in his vision. The fowl looked incredibly sad and somber, but there was a small light of pride in his eyes as he finished, too.

"Thanks, Virg." Max turned his head to Norman. "Can you carry the lid over here?"

"Wait, are you really gonna…?" Ray began.

"I guess so," Max said. "Like I said when we met, I'm the Mighty One and I get asked to risk it all to save the world all the time. I guess this is one of those times when the risk it a little more than I can take." His face looked oddly young and vulnerable as he said it, but his voice was steady.

"Isn't there another way?" Peter wanted to know.

"No, there isn't." Egon's voice was final. But the other Ghostbusters saw something in his expression, something that meant he was thinking fast, as fast as he could.

Norman returned lugging the huge black lid and, at a nod from Max, picked it up and put it over the jar, the boy withdrawing his hands briefly. As soon as the lid was on, he shifted his grip so he held either side of the opening, pinning the lid to the jar with his aching fingers.

"_Mighty One?"_

This time Anesidora's voice was audible in the space to them all. Max closed his eyes.

"Yes, Anesidora?"

"_I am sorry for this. I had intended to hold the jar for all time. It should never have been opened again after Shuru's sacrifice. But it is true that a pure heart of courage must seal this jar from where you stand as Pandora said. I cannot bind it from within. I am sorry I must ask for your life to save the world we both love."_

"Don't worry about it."

"What will happen to him?" Ray wanted to know.

"_He must seal the jar with his power and the act of it will draw him inside with me. He will be condemned as I have been to an eternity holding back the evil that lives here. That he is mortal will not matter, for time is immaterial here – in the end he will be gone from your world and will give himself to this task for all time. Mighty One, if you choose to expend your power in this way, you will never escape the jar, but neither will evil."_

"How do I seal it?" Max asked after only a moment's silence.

"Mighty One…" Virgil began, but he had no way to finish his words and fell quiet.

"_Offer your blood to the mouth on the lid of the jar, Mighty One, and then let yourself fall."_

"Wait." The tone in Egon's voice startled them all to stillness. And without another word, the scientist stepped up onto the dais, looked straight at Max, and squeezed his fist tightly. His hand still bled from the earlier fall, and his blood trickled from between his fingers until a few drops splashed in the dark, open mouth of the face in the jar's lid.

"Egon!" Peter exclaimed.

"The world needs you, Mighty One," Egon smiled ruefully. "It can spare me."

"But…but…I've already bled on the jar!" Max protested.

"But not the lid," Egon returned. "I'd guess that changes things."

"_It does. Mortal, you will die now that you have done this. You are not strong enough to enter the jar and hold evil at bay. You will become like Shuru, a soul lost for all time as you conceal and bind the evil by your death."_

"I know that." Egon's voice was rather peaceful. "But it saves Max."

"No way! Egon, you aren't doing this!" Winston protested.

"I think I already have."

"Fine! If you're gonna be all stupid and altruistic, you can't keep me from joining the fun!" And suddenly Peter was beside him, wiping a bit of blood from one cheek and slapping down his hand onto the jar's lid as well, splattering a few drops to land beside Egon's offering.

"Pete!" Ray and Egon yelled in unison.

"What? I'm not a trendsetter, but you know how I hate being left behind."

"Anesidora," Virgil called out, his voice oddly intense, "can we continue to tip the scales, to spare the Mighty One this fate?"

"_If your hearts are pure, if your courage absolute, then yes. If you all offer your lifeblood to the lid to form a new seal, the Mighty One can use his power to bind the jar and it will not be his life taken as the price, nor will he be drawn within. However, you will all perish in the attempt, for none of you have enough power to survive the sealing of the jar. But the Mighty One would remain unharmed."_

"What are we waiting for, then?" Norman grunted once, ran his hand along his blade (for the Guardian had not shed a drop of blood in the fight) and added his offering to the lid.

"No! Stop it!" Max cried out, his face becoming paler and his jaw hanging in horror. "You can't die for this! You can't die for me!"

"Sure we can," Ray put a hand on his shoulder, then touched his own bleeding temple and let a drop fall. "You're the one who has to go on and save the world, Max."

"Mighty One," Virgil's voice was serene, "allow us all to do this. Let us offer our blood. Then seal the jar as you must, but offer it none of your own. If it takes our lives, you will remain to fulfill your destiny and protect this world. We will not be forced to spend eternity in the dark battling evil as you would be. Our end will be quick and painless. The world will be safe. It…it is our duty to you, Mighty Max."

Max felt his throat close and gulped hard, shaking his head in denial even as Winston let a few drops of his blood slide to join the others.

"Never thought I'd be going out this way," he remarked calmly to the others still gathered around the jar. One by one, they put a hand on the lid, pressing downward as though they could hold the jar closed without Max's strange power.

"My only regret," Peter said dramatically, "is that I never did get paid for this one."

"Not yet," Egon put in mischievously, "but I think that's what the jar is about to do."

"Not the same thing, Egon," Peter replied.

"What about Janine and Slimer and everybody?" Ray wanted to know, the levity dripping from his face and leaving solemn sadness in its wake.

"Janine…she's tough," and there was genuine sorrow in Peter's voice. "She'll be okay. And she'll probably take care of the little slime-ball. She'll…she'll understand."

"Yes, I suppose she will," Egon sighed and turned his face away.

"I cannot thank you enough. What you do here, your heroism, it is unparalleled. It is an honor to join you in this," Virgil interrupted the four before their sadness spilled any rather – he could see them begin to feel the loss. He gestured to Norman who gave him a boost.

"Virgil, please, don't!"

But Max's desperate cry to save the last of them was met only with calm, certain eyes as the Lemurian pulled a feather out of his arm and squeezed a tiny drop of blood from its tip.

"I'm sorry, Mighty One. But I told you when we met that I had come to you to guide and serve you. You have learned so much. It appears that Norman and I have decided that it is time to do our final duty by you."

Max staggered back and away from the jar. He could feel the pressure in the air, the tug that reminded him of knowing when a portal was near. But this wasn't that. This was the draw to finish what had been begun. To use his power to seal the jar as Anesidora had done eons before. But unlike Anesidora, it wasn't his own life or blood or eternity he was offering. It was everybody else's. He felt like he had a gun in his hand, and as soon as he pulled that trigger, all of them would die. He would be killing them all by his own choice.

"Mighty One," Norman called softly. "It is time."

"Yeah, and I hate waiting," Peter said gently.

"No! It isn't supposed to be like this!" Max shook his head. "How can you expect me to let you all die for me?"

"You're not letting us die," Winston said softly. "You're giving us the chance to save the world."

"You know the stories, kid. You know how many times we've cheated death to protect what we care about," Ray added. "We all knew when we came here that we might not get home. It's part of being a Ghostbuster."

"Mighty One," Egon said, and his voice had taken on the intoning quality Max most associated with Virgil declaring a prophecy, "it's time. Time for us to let go. Time for you to save the world. We probably can't hold on much longer before Anesidora's power fails again and we have to start over."

Max actually turned his back on them. His whole body was tense and his fists were so tight he felt sure he was about to open wounds in his palms with his fingernails. He squeezed his eyes closed and shook with some mix of fear and shame and fury and loss. Then he snapped his head up. His expression cleared and he turned back to them.

"Thank you. All of you," and he moved towards the jar again, stepping between Norman and Virgil and completing the circle. "Shuru's great sin wasn't that he gave in to fear. It was that he couldn't bear to let Kagina die. It doomed them all. But I get it now."

He looked up and smiled, actually smiled.

"It's easy to die for somebody. Compared to asking somebody to die for you, it's very easy. Kagina was willing to die to save the world and Shuru from the jar opening. But Shuru couldn't watch that happen, and that's when he made his mistake. If he'd let her die there, the jar might never have opened."

"Yes, Mighty One," Virgil smiled too. "That's right. You have protected this world and us as well. It is time for us to protect you."

"Yeah, but you're missing something," and his smile deepened, not teasingly, but with genuine relief.

"What's that?"

"There's something even more powerful than being willing to die for something. Shuru and Kagina both died to seal and hide the jar. Maybe we can do better. Because more than being willing to die for this, I'm willing to live for it!"

And before anyone could stop him, Max raised his right hand, still oozing from where the cold oblivion of the jar had torn his skin and bloody from where he had just reopened the wound a moment ago in his anger. Blood flowing, he slammed his hand into the center of the hollow on the jar's lid, mixing his blood with the other drops there, and he released all the power he could find within himself.

From underneath his hand a golden light blossomed. Norman was already reaching for Max to pull him away, and the Ghostbusters were all in motion to stop him, but everything seemed to freeze in the light. Then, after a long moment, Virgil lifted his arm as far as he could reach and put his feathery hand over Max's in the mouth on the jar. Not to pull him away. To support him.

Egon's joined it, followed by Peter and Ray and Winston. Norman clasped his enormous hand over them all and six faces turned to Max. Whatever happened now, they would face it together.

"Please let this work," he thought to himself. If the six of them could have given their blood to die, maybe one more person would be enough to tip the scales and save them all. After all, hadn't he at last figured out that it was harder to live in the world you create with sacrifice than to die in its creation? Didn't he finally understand that there was more power in living every single day for what you believe in than dying for it in one momentary instant? If being willing to sacrifice every breath of the rest of his days to save the world wasn't the heart of his power, then he didn't know what was.

And if not, if he was wrong about all this, then he hadn't let them die alone. They'd saved him from an eternity in the jar. The least he could do was go with them in death. The world would be safe, and he would not have chosen the lives of his friends over his own. It was enough.

The light spilling from beneath their seven hands intensified until it burned even through tightly closed eyes and the mind itself was awash in light. It wasn't painful, not even that uncomfortable, but it was disorienting. Max felt himself seem to slide in and out of awareness for a moment, then felt a burning all along his outstretched arm. A voice touched his mind.

"_Mighty One. With your power the jar is once again sealed. You are fortunate, Chosen One. Not to have survived, or for having been spared the jar, but that you have allies of such honor and virtue. Leave this place with my gratitude."_

The light and voice faded and Max blinked spots from his eyes. Above the open-mouthed face on the lid of the jar, a black and cold apparatus had sprouted, twining around the many arms that met on the center of the lid. Tendrils of the black metal stretched over the lid, creeping down the edges of the jar like the roots of a tree. And above the joined hands, a large sphere drew the lock together. Around its surface were different-sized handprints, seven in all, each marked with a sharp point in the center of the palm.

Almost fearfully, Max pulled his arm back, afraid for a moment he might find himself effectively handcuffed to the jar of so much suffering, but his small hand came free with ease. His heart beating in his throat, Max finally looked up from the newly-born lock.

Six faces, amazed and mostly happy, looked back at him.

"Mighty One," Egon made his voice severe, "that was the most foolhardy thing you have done yet. We were willing to die and you still risked yourself on the infinitesimally small chance you would buy all our lives. It was reckless." He smiled. "Thank you."

"Looks like we owe you for saving us again," Winston winked.

"Hey, and likewise!" Max smiled, watching as each person carefully pulled their own arm from the lock. "Least I could do for what you offered to do for me. Call it a tie."

"And if you ever do something like that again," Virgil huffed, stamping a foot in irritation, "I shall…I shall…think of something awful to do later!"

Max started to giggle even as Norman put a hand on his shoulder. "Well done, Cap-Bearer."

"Oh, don't encourage him!" Virgil spluttered.

Max's giggling turned into full-blown laughter which even the Ghostbusters didn't bother to resist. Norman snorted through his nose. And as they stepped down from the dais in time to see the jar fade completely from view, though they all knew it remained, hidden once more, the sudden and sweet wonder of still being alive, of having won, broke over them. Even Virgil.

The four Ghostbusters, one Guardian, one Lemurian, and one Mighty One grinned and laughed all the way home.


	12. Epilogue

"You know, the real advantage of how it came out, besides the whole not-dying thing," Ray said cheerfully, looking at Max as the boy grabbed a piece of pizza from the tall stack, "is that this way, the jar really will never open again."

"How do you mean?" Virgil asked around a dainty bite. Even New York pizza was below Lemurians; he was eating garlic bread.

"Think about it. The only reason the jar opened this time was because Shuru got blasted. He was the one who locked it, so he was the one who could unlock it. But with all of us locking it…"

"It would take all seven of us to unlock it," Max finished. "All of us together would have to be destroyed or choose to open it."

"And as long as we don't, as long as we all promise never to open this jar, if even one of us is not present, the jar will remain locked for all time. Even our eventual deaths should not undo what has been done, so long as we are not vaporized as ghosts ourselves." Egon allowed himself a small smile as he picked through the Buffalo Wings with care for one completely free of the bleu cheese dressing he despised.

"Well, that's really okay with me. I could do without crazy demons wanting to absorb all the evil in the cosmos for a while." Winston finished the point with a huge slurp of his Mountain Dew.

"Don't say things like that!" Ray admonished. "That's like saying "the coast is clear" right before you get ambushed in a movie!"

"Oh, come on," Max put in cheerfully. "Only the best movies are worthy of such cliché. It's okay to live in a great movie, as long as the good guys win in the end, you know."

"Well, can't argue with that," Ray replied. "Even if we already have a movie and all. But," and he leaned over to stage-whisper, "ix-nay on the actors, okay? The only person who hates the way it was cast more than Pete is Janine."

"What are you saying over there?" she demanded suspiciously, rounding the corner with more napkins.

"Nothing!" all four Ghostbusters chorused.

"Mighty One," Norman asked suddenly, "do you think they'll ever make a movie out of your story?"

"That would be highly dangerous to the Cap-Bearer," Virgil waved dismissively. "He does his best work unencumbered by fame."

"Yeah, so would we," Egon glared over at Peter, who shrugged helplessly.

"As long as they leave out the part about my practically handing the Cap over to Pandora while trying to save Norman and almost causing the end of the world, I don't really care," Max answered brightly. "And if they don't get some lame pipsqueak to play me, of course. Virgil, maybe they could get Big Bird to be you!"

"Most amusing, Mighty One," the Lemurian rolled his eyes.

This launched the gathered party into speculation as to what actor would best represent Max himself, leading to a somewhat disturbing shouting match about Justin Bieber and Haley Joel Osment (but only when he'd been closer in age to Max). Norman refused to offer an opinion, but said that if anybody other than Chris Hemsworth tried for his part he would personally convince them otherwise.

"Never pegged you for a 'Thor' fan, Normie," the Cap-Bearer laughed, standing to get a refill on his drink from the table. "Especially since you were there."

"You know," Peter said, sidling up next to the boy while the others absorbed that information, "you're wrong about one thing."

"What's that?"

"You said that it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't tried to save Norman and given Pandora the chance to grab the Cap. But I actually think if you hadn't done that, we'd be in a lot more trouble right now."

"What? Why?" Max's face had furrowed almost accusingly. Peter hid his snicker at what was a perfect picture of "how dare you redirect my well-placed teenage angst with your logic?"

"Well, think about it. If you hadn't tried to tackle Norman and lost the Cap, the jar wouldn't have been unlocked. If it hadn't been unlocked, then we couldn't have accidentally opened it completely."

"Yeah, not making me feel better."

"I see!" Ray grinned. "If the jar hadn't opened, we wouldn't have been able to banish Pandora into it! Our traps would never have held her."

"Exactly. And if the jar hadn't opened completely, we also wouldn't have had to seal it again." Peter crossed his arms and smiled.

"And because we chose to seal it together," Egon picked up the train of thought, "it is now vastly more unlikely that it shall ever be opened again until the end of time."

"So," Virgil's voice took on that tone of smug certainty Max both loved and hated depending on what came next, "by giving Pandora the key to the jar, you single-handedly ensured the safety of the world from one of its greatest evils for eternity. Well done, Mighty One!"

"Couldn't have done it better ourselves," Winston said. "Literally. We couldn't have."

"Hey, speak for yourself," Peter began grandly, spreading his arms. "I'll have you know…"

The rest got drowned out for Max by Norman leaning close to him and saying soft enough so only his boy could hear, "I told you so."

"Told me what, big guy?"

"I told you to be the hero you are and it would be enough. I never said you had to do it all yourself. You're not the only one who sealed that jar. But you gave us the chance to do it together."

"I still…shouldn't I have found a way to do it without having to rely on you?" Max asked, insecurity clear in his face.

"Nope. You have to save the world. You will never have to save it alone." He grinned and jerked his head to one side, indicating his sword. "No matter what. I've got your back, Mighty Max."

"As do I," Virgil appeared at his elbow. "I'm proud of you."

Max ducked his head as he felt the almost-too-warm approval from his friends radiating at him. Then he breathed out once, lifted his chin, and smiled. Just because he had to save the world didn't mean he had to do it without help. And, as he looked at the now openly-arguing set of Ghostbusters and Janine, he realized all at once how much help he really had. Not just Norman and Virgil, not just the Ghostbusters, not just friends from adventures across the world, but who knew how many others that would step up at the right moment and back him, fight for him, protect him. The world was filled with heroes, and he was one of them. And even if he failed, somebody else would be there to pick up the slack. Somebody would be there to make sure the world got saved, even after he was gone.

"And THEREFORE!" Pete shouted, jumping onto the table and waving his arms broadly, sending pizza boxes and paper plates flying while Janine shrieked and hurled a handful of Doritos at him, "We don't have enough talent to win on talent alone. But neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night shall stay us from the swift completion of our appointed rounds, for the proton pack is mightier than the sword. There is no crying in ghostbusting, but we in it shall be remembered, we few, we happy few, we band of brothers, one for all and all for one. In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape our sight; let those who worship evil's might know that Big Brother is watching you! And so, my fellow Ghostbusters, ask not what your firehouse can do for you; ask what you can do for your firehouse, for we must go where no man has gone before. We are one team, under Slimer, invisible, with liberty and justice for all. So I ask you, men, WHO YOU GONNA CALL?"

"GHOSTBUSTERS!" roared Ray, leaping to his feet, face flushed and looking like he'd just scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl.

"And Max!" Egon declared loudly, rising as well and grinning broadly.

"Mighty Max and the Ghostbusters," Winston said approvingly, snatching a piece of pizza before it wound up under Venkman's foot. "Sounds like a sweet movie deal to me!"

"I'm ready for my close-up, Mr DeMille," Peter said in a frighteningly sultry voice, leaning close to Janine.

Which, of course, ended in him tipping over the table, nearly landing on Janine except for the quick reflexes of Norman who pulled her to safety. Instead, Peter wound up with a face full of Slimer, a backside covered in bleu cheese dressing, three laughing Ghostbusters, one smirking Guardian, a Cap-Bearer speechless with giggles, a fuming secretary, and a largely disapproving fowl. Which, of course, meant there was just one thing left to do.

Pulling himself to his feet and gathering the slimiest, stickiest, least-recognizable piece of garlic bread left in the mess on the floor, he grinned just once and winked at Max.

Then he threw it with all his might at Egon, scoring a direct hit to the face.

"FOOD FIGHT!"


End file.
